


Quarantine

by Celine_Lister



Series: Love In The Time Of Corona [1]
Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: F/F, Modern AU, Quarantine, but here we are, medium burn? I guess?, nobody asked for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 92,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23170183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celine_Lister/pseuds/Celine_Lister
Summary: The coronavirus quarantine AU exactly 0 people asked for. Anne was "just passing" when she called on Miss Walker and was exposed to COVID-19. The Anne(s) are stuck together for the next two weeks.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Series: Love In The Time Of Corona [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700641
Comments: 535
Kudos: 558





	1. Monday morning

**Author's Note:**

> Is this in bad taste? This idea occurred to me and wouldn't leave me alone. Maybe something to get our minds off the impending doom all around us.

Anne Lister prided herself on these morning walks. She loved the way the neighborhood looked as the sun rose, the light pink streaks spreading across the sky as the morning broke, the dark houses slowing coming to life. She was on sabbatical this semester, working on her newest book on the evolution of Romance languages in Europe. She appreciated the time off from grading papers, but she missed the camaraderie of the Classics department, the thrill of lecturing, the interactions with students. Anne tried to make the most of it, spending more time on her research, long conversations with her aunt, improvements to Shibden’s grounds. She kept herself busy, pushing away thoughts of Vere with endless tasks and projects. She willed herself to be excited about these, to put on a brave face for her family. She was bored stiff, to tell the truth.

So she walked. In the mornings. Before dawn. It gave her a reason to get up early, a reason to get out of the house, a reason to avoid breakfast with Marian. Important reasons, all of them. 

She strode down the gravel path that made up the border between her estate and the Walkers’. Nice people, she thought, so tragic they were all dead or moved away. The girls were still alive, she thought, but one was in Scotland. No oil painting, either of them. Aunt Anne had mentioned the younger one the other day, an attempt to pull Anne from her sulking over Vere. Pushing these thoughts away, she texted Mariana: “what are you doing this weekend?” A visit from Mariana, no matter how brief, would at least be something to look forward to; the week stretched before her, nothing but isolation, her research, and her computer. Bleak. 

How old would young Miss Walker be, Anne mused, 28? 29? Aunt Anne had mentioned her again at supper yesterday – still single, it seemed. Dull and stupid, Anne thought, then felt nasty for it. Too strong a word, unkind. She’d been only, what, 18 or so when Anne saw her last. Perhaps she’d grown into her wide eyes and freckled face. Anne turned down the gravel road toward Crow Nest. 

She bounded up the steps, adjusting her black baseball cap further back on her head before ringing the bell. The house was immense; the Walkers were rather wealthy, weren’t they? 

“Good morning, ma’am,” a sharp-looking young man opened the door, his starched white shirt and crisp slacks augmenting his severe posture. A butler? Anne thought. So they are rather wealthy. 

“Dr. Lister to see Miss Walker, is she in?” Anne asked. 

“Well, yes, ma’am, she’s in. Follow me,” the butler turned on his heel and led Anne to an ornate sitting room – yellow walls, antique sofa, immense paintings. “I’ll see if she’s awake.” 

With that, Anne found herself alone. She checked her watch – 7:15. Hmmm. Perhaps she should’ve waited until later in the morning. She looked down at her outfit – sneakers, black running tights, and a long-sleeve black t-shirt. Hmmmm. Perhaps she should’ve changed clothes. 

Anne was just kicking herself for being too impulsive, yet again, when the door opened. A young woman (mid-20s Anne guessed) entered cautiously, still brushing out her hair with her fingers. She was wearing jeans and faded purple shirt; her eyes looked bleary, a dot of toothpaste in the corner of her mouth. Anne sensed immediately she’d woken her. 

“Dr. Lister, it’s so good to see you again” her grin nearly engulfed her face. Anne was momentarily stunned – was this Ann Walker? She was nothing like the gangly, staring teenager Anne remembered. She was petite and blonde and smiling; Anne felt herself stirring suddenly. No, she thought, no, you’re just lonely. Keep it together.  
“Miss Walker,” Anne took Ann’s hand, clasping it between her own, “I was just passing.”

Ann nodded, gesturing to the sofa behind them: “Sit, please. I’m – so happy to see you. I was, uh, surprised, but I’m, uh, delighted.” Anne sat, smiling widely at the flustered young woman, watching her consider the chair across the room before sinking onto the sofa next to her. This could be nice, Anne thought, a bit of flirting to start of the day. 

That bit of flirting turned into four hours of conversation – about books and travelling and television and family. Anne found herself captivated by the woman across from her, much more so than she’d expected. She was sweet and kind and good in a way Anne hadn’t experienced in years. Shall I make up to Miss Walker, Anne mused? She is young, impressionable, and what she may lack in rank, she certainly makes up for in fortune. 

The butler appeared again at the door, which Anne took as her signal to leave. She stood. 

“I want to thank you, Miss Walker, for the most pleasant morning I’ve spent in a long time.” She moved toward the door.

“Dr. Lister, uh, ma’am,” the butler blocked the door. Anne looked at him, then at Ann, who appeared equally confused.

“What?” Anne demanded, suddenly irritated. 

“James, is everything alright?” Ann asked. 

“Well, uh, the cook, the one who made those breakfast rolls for you?” He started.

“They were lovely, tell them thank you.” Anne said impatiently. 

“She’s developed a fever, over the last hour. She’s – well, she’s showing the symptoms of the coronavirus.” 

Anne narrowed her eyes at him, “So?”

“So you’ve been exposed! We all have! We should be in isolation,” James spoke quickly, nearly shouting. 

“No,” Anne shook her head, moving toward the door, “no, I have to get home, I have work to do, I have my aunt to – shit.” She sat down, realizing the risk she’d be putting her aunt in by going home. Her health was feeble enough as it was. 

“We have plenty of space, really,” Ann offered, the hopefulness in her voice nearly breaking Anne’s heart. She would be stuck here for two weeks. Anne hung her head, running her fingers through the hair at the back of her neck. Flirting with Ann Walker for a few hours was one thing – being trapped in an unfamiliar house for a fortnight? That was something else entirely. Anne raised her head, looking back at the bright young face watching her.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Anne managed a small smile. Ann Walker really was quite pretty. And young. And wealthy. Three things became immediately clear to her First: she would have to stay at Crow Nest for at least the next 14 days. Second: Ann Walker was a suitable match, someone, perhaps, to wash Marianna’s bitter taste out of Anne’s mouth. Third: the poor girl was already thoroughly in love with her. Shall I stay here, she wondered, and endeavor to make little Miss Walker my wife?


	2. Monday afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> work is so slow, and we're about to get closed down because of all of this so - here we are?   
> thank you thank you thank you for all the feedback already!

Ann Walker knew, objectively, that the coronavirus was not a good thing. Thousands of people had died, thousands more were sick. Whole nations were shutting down; it felt like the entire planet might fall apart. And yet…strolling through the garden with Anne Lister by her side, Ann felt profoundly grateful for it. 

Anne Lister, the giant of her youthful fantasies, was not only here, in the flesh, with Ann, she was stuck here, in the flesh, with Ann. And she was listening – really listening! – to Ann. She felt almost drunk on Anne’s attention, on her understanding nod, on her broad smile. The suggestion to walk through the garden had been Anne’s, a post-lunch leg stretch. Ann was glad to have an activity, something to do to shift the focus away from herself. She felt exceedingly dull next to Anne, who seemed to have done so much, been so many places; how would she entertain this woman for 13 more days?

“This cousin Atkinson, has he mentioned how he intends to pay you back?” Anne broke the silence. Ann had mentioned Atkinson’s loan request a few minutes earlier, but then a silence had stretch between them, underscored only by their feet shuffling through the grass. Ann had figured she was boring Anne, that it was tacky to talk about money, that Anne found her inability to manage her family childish and immature. Ann had been berating herself, clouds of self-hatred separating her from the warm day, from the bright flowers, from Anne’s watchful gaze. Ann looked up, and the slight concern on Anne’s face cleared the clouds in her mind. 

“Um, no, well, not exactly. It’s rather vague,” Ann stammered. 

“It’s a lot of money to be vague to the lender,” Anne said, stopping them at the base of the stairs leading to the back of the house. 

Ann nodded, looking down. Why wasn’t she more assertive? She would’ve just blindly lent out the money. She picked at her nails. It never occurred to her to ask when she would be paid back. 

“What you need, Miss Walker,” and here Anne Lister, the great Anne Lister, put her hand on Ann’s, bending her knees slightly to bring her eyes level with Ann’s, an encouraging smile brightening her face. Certainly Anne must’ve finished that sentence, but Ann Walker never heard it, so lost was she in the deep brown eyes and warm smile across from her. The sensation of Anne’s hand on her own, stilling her nervous fingers, sent a chill down – no, that wasn’t right. No, it was a warmth, spreading from the point of contact, up her arms, to the middle of her stomach. Ann couldn’t quite place it; she’d never felt so warm before. Perhaps it was the afternoon sun. 

Ann led Anne to the library, sat down, opened her laptop, and typed out a message to Atkinson as Anne dictated, all without hyperventilating. No small feat, with Anne’s warm body behind her, her arm brushing past Ann’s shoulder to point out a misspelled word, her breath hot on Ann’s cheek when she crouched down to reread the message. Good Lord, it was sweltering in here too. Perhaps she should adjust the thermostat. 

But before Ann could think any more about the HVAC, Anne Lister picked up the paper knife from her desk, the one Catherine had given her before they went to university. Anne twisted the thin, wooden knife in her hands, twirling it between her fingers, as the women sat in the matching arm chairs on the far side of the room. Something about Anne’s long, slender fingers mesmerized Ann; they seemed so…dexterous. The veins on the broad backs of her hands were more pronounced now; the ring on her right index finger catching the afternoon sun. Ann heard herself rattling on about her cancelled trip with Catherine, everything being so restricted with the virus, not wanting to take any risks, but her attention was focused on the thin blade in Anne’s hand. She was bending it, testing the pliable wood, until – snap!

“Are you alright?” Ann gasped, eyes locked on Anne’s hands still, a sliver of red peaking from her palm.

“I’m – fine –“ Anne stuttered.

“You’re not, you’re bleeding,” Ann pulled a tissue from the box and held it out to Anne, who dropped the twin halves of the paper knife on the table between before pressing the tissue to her right palm. 

“I can mend this,” Anne muttered, attention focused on her hand, color rising to her cheeks. Could Anne Lister be embarrassed? Surely not. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ann said, an urgency creeping into her voice. She couldn’t even keep her guest uninjured for 12 hours! What a mess. Anne must think her a terrible host, what with something so dangerous as a paper knife just laying around. 

“I can replace it,” Anne offered, eyes still downcast. 

“If you like,” Ann offered, still desperate to restore their camaraderie.

“Though I don’t know what with,” Anne muttered. Why wouldn’t she look up?

“It doesn’t matter,” Ann implored. 

“Because of course it could never have the same sentimental value. Whatever I replaced it with. If she’s such a dear friend.” Anne half-raised her head to meet Ann’s eyes – finally!

“Oh. I – I think it would.” Ann said, before sinking to her knees before the other woman. “Let me,” she whispered, taking Anne’s hand between her own, applying pressure to the cut. The feeling of Anne’s warm hand in hers was unparalleled. The entire world seemed to narrow to a single point; Ann’s entire life leading up to this moment. She would mark time this way: before she’d held Anne’s hand, and after. 

“Would you like to come to Switzerland with me?” Anne said, her voice husky, deeper than usual. Ann looked up at her, unsure what to say. “In the spring, when all this is over.”

“I’ve never been abroad,” Ann said softly, looking back down at their hands. Anne wanted to see her, even once “all this” had passed. She felt that warmth spread up her hands again, settle behind her bellybutton. 

“Well then,” Anne brought her left hand to cover Ann’s, “you haven’t lived.” Her smile was broad again, the sparkle in her eyes brilliant once more. God, how could Ann love another person this much?

And she did. Love Anne, that is. Of course she did. How could she not? She loved her in the way teenage girls love Harry Styles and middle-aged men love sleek cars. Not in any sort of serious way. Not in a way that she could do anything about. It was impossible. Ann knew what people said about Anne Lister, about her eccentricities, her skirt-chasing, her inability to hold onto a woman (unless that woman was already married). Ann Walker had loved Anne Lister ever since she first knew what love meant when it wasn’t for your mother or your sister. And as Ann watched Anne talk animatedly, gesturing widely, Ann realized she was happier than she’d ever been. 

“Of course, then there were the pocket holes,” Anne said conspiratorially. 

“Pocket holes?” Ann asked, puzzled.

“Yeah, sewn in specially.”

“What for?”

“Well, I did wonder. And then I asked Mrs. Barlow, this – English lady I had met.” Ann had heard about Mrs. Barlow, in some fourth-hand gossip from Catherine. It wasn’t flattering. She pushed the thought from her mind. “I can’t tell you,” Anne laughed, “it’s too outrageous.”

“Tell me! Go on, tell me. You can’t hint at something so intriguing and then not say it.” Ann felt nearly wild with suspense.

“Well it’s very French. Only in France – no, only in Paris.” Anne paused, swallowing and lowering her voice, “apparently it’s so a man might,” Anne paused again, laughing to herself, before biting her lip and looking back up at Ann. Ann’s breath caught in her throat. Anne spoke again, her voice low, “pleasure himself. Without. Drawing attention to himself.” She curled her fingers, raising her hand up and down just twice. What was she – oh Lord.

“Oh – That’s - !” Ann sputtered, feeling her face grow hot.

“You’ve gone red,” Anne laughed, covering her face with her hand, “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“That’s not true!” Ann was laughing now too, thrilled to share this intimate, dirty joke with Anne Lister, of all people!

“Of course it’s true! It’s Paris! That’s why people go there!” Anne laughed, her eyes bright. “Not me, of course. I just went there to – study anatomy.” Something in the way Anne’s voice dropped, the way her eyes traveled Ann’s body, the way her tongue peaked out from between her lips, made Ann nearly desperate for – for something. She could barely process the beating of her heart, the dryness of her throat, the wetness between her legs, before Anne was suddenly speaking again.

“Have you ever kissed another woman?” Anne’s voice was rough, gravelly. 

Ann stuttered, shaking her head, looking back to her lap. 

“Have you ever wanted to?” Anne pushed, looking up at Ann from below her brow. Her voice was low and sultry; Ann felt her heart race. 

“Good Lord, how did we get on to that?” Ann laughed breathlessly, hoping Anne will steer them away from this topic, from the seeming inevitability between them. Anne stared back at her placidly, her eyebrows raised. No, Anne seems intent on an answer. Ann picked at her fingernails and whispers, “only to … see what it was like.”

“Who?” Anne breathed, so quietly Ann almost fears she’s imagined it. She can’t answer, can’t possibly tell this gorgeous, brilliant, eccentric woman that the only woman – the only person – Ann’s ever wanted to kiss is her. 

“Have you?” Ann managed, knowing the rumors about Anne Lister but wanting confirmation. 

“Wanted to?” Anne’s eyes were mischievous now; Ann felt her stomach churn. They were officially out past Ann’s comfort zone now. Anne nodded, “yes.”

“Who? When?” Ann felt frantic, hearing the urgency in her voice but unable to stop. Who does Anne Lister desire and how can Ann become that person as quickly as possible?

“Every time I look at you,” Anne whispered. Ann felt faint, nauseous, excited, elated. 

“What do you mean?” she managed over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. 

“I think you know what I mean.” Anne reached out, tracing her fingertips along Ann’s cheek, then her lips. Ann thought weakly of the WHO recommendation to avoid touching your face, of social distancing, of singing Happy Birthday whilst washing your hands. Then she thought: fuck it. 

Ann Walker, 29 years old, university drop-out, heiress, orphan, kissed Anne Lister square on the mouth. She feltAnne’s hand travel to her neck, the other coming to rest lightly on her hip. A fleeting thought told Ann she ought to do something with her own hands, but it was soon lost to the slick slide, the divine pressure, of Anne’s lips on hers. Anne pulled away slowly, cupping Ann’s face in her hands. Ann grinned back at her. 

A knock on the door jolted them apart. James appeared, seemingly oblivious to the moment he had just interrupted. Ann was grateful for the intrusion, in a way. She needed to catch her breath; she felt like she hadn't breathed in hours. 

“Dr. Lister,” he said, “your assistant left a bag of things for you on the porch. Ordinarily I would take it to your room for you, but under the circumstances –”

“Yes,” Anne nodded, standing, “I understand. I’ll take my things upstairs. Miss Walker, would you take me to bed?”

James blushed and bowed out of the room. Ann laughed, slapping Anne on the arm.

“What?” Anne feigned confusion, “I meant to my bedroom where I will be staying while we are in isolation because of COVID-19. What did you think I meant?” Ann was laughing, shaking her head and leading Anne out of the room. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Miss Walker.”


	3. Monday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good lord. I'm halfway embarrassed to post this

“You’re saying you can’t cook at all? Like not anything?” Anne laughed, admiring Ann’s spotless kitchen, all white walls and stainless steel appliances. The kitchen was small, clearly recently renovated, and, Anne assessed, well-stocked.

“Why do you think I have a cook?” Ann asked, sliding herself up on the counter between the stove and refrigerator. “I can make toast. Almost. 9 times out of 10.”

Anne laughed again, stepping between Ann’s legs and leaning up to kiss her softly. “I guess I could teach you,” she whispered as she stepped away. She opened the fridge, marveling at the options before her. Perhaps she had…exaggerated her cooking abilities. She spotted chicken breast and carrots. She could handle that much. 

“Any guesses on a pantry? Which door?” She asked, gesturing to the identical doors on the opposite wall. Ann considered, then shook her head. Anne laughed; was this girl for real?

“I told you! I don’t cook. I never have. I hardly even come in here,” Ann protested. Anne guessed correctly, opening the middle door to an expansive pantry, from which she pulled potatoes, olive oil, a few spices. She set everything on the counter by Ann’s hip, squeezing her knee as she reached around to grab a peeler, knife and cutting board from behind the younger woman. 

“Not even in uni? I thought you said you went away,” Anne said as she started peeling carrots. 

“Oh, well. You see, I actually only lasted one semester at St. Andrew’s. And I spent most of that time microwaving mac and cheese to avoid the cafeteria.” Ann’s voice was tentative. Shit. Had Anne touched a sore subject? 

“I get it. I hate those big cafeterias, huge troughs of food, everybody so loud,” Anne tried to salvage the mood, to get Ann to stop picking at her nails. 

“Right,” Ann nodded, “and then it turned out I thought I was homesick, but then I came home and – well nothing was the same. My parents were gone; Elizabeth moved away. I haven’t really been able to leave the house since.”

Ann’s quiet sadness struck Anne, in this moment, and she felt, suddenly, overwhelmingly protective of her. She begged Ann to tell her about her childhood, about her mother, her sister, her dogs. She soaked up everything Ann offered her, ravenous for every detail of her life. She was entranced. And by Ann Walker. Of all people. 

As they ate their modest dinner at the too-large dining table, Anne wondered what it was about little Ann Walker that so captivated her. It could very well be her petite frame, her wavy blonde hair, her smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. But that felt cheap, tawdry, somehow lesser than her growing estimation of Ann. Perhaps it was her laugh, the look of rapture on her face when Anne spoke, her eagerness to listen to Anne’s long-winded stories. No, that wasn’t right either; that explanation was too self-serving, too arrogant. Of course anyone would care for someone who treated them the way Ann did; this was different. Truthfully, Anne realized, there was something good and honest and kind about Ann Walker that she had not seen in a very long time. Something she saw a flicker of in Eliza, two or three lifetimes ago. Something Tib had drowned in booze, Mariana had betrayed with Charles, Vere had feigned until Donald arrived. 

After dinner, Anne insisted Ann show her some watercolors. Ann led her to her bedroom, all soft pinks and golds, kneeling on the ground next to the chair in the corner. Anne settled in the stiff chair, smiling down at the woman perched at her feet. Ann passed her portfolio to Anne, nodding when Anne moved to untie and open it. 

“Is this your sister?” Anne asked, holding up a striking portrait of a blonde woman with a sharp nose and blonde curls. She looked thinner, more strained than Ann, but the resemblance was clear. Ann nodded, her eyes gleaming at the recognition. What Anne wouldn’t do to put that look on her face every day of her life. Anne paged through the portfolio: birds, fruit, landscapes. Ann was talented, without a doubt. There was a precision to her languid strokes, a careful attention to detail. Anne briefly wondered if the younger woman was the same way with her hands, with her tongue – calm down, Lister, she admonished herself. Keep it in your pants for, like, 24 hours. 

“These are very good,” Anne said sincerely. “You’re very good.” 

Ann nodded, bashful. She was picking at her nails again. 

“Perhaps one of these days you could paint me,” Anne said, admiring another portrait of Ann’s sister.

“I’d love to paint you,” the eagerness bordering on urgency in Ann’s voice turned Anne’s head. Anne leaned down, placing a soft kiss on Ann’s lips. She tasted like the wine they drank with dinner. Anne felt her head spinning already, so she pulled away. 

“What would you be doing, tonight, if you weren’t here?” Ann asked, taking the portfolio from Anne and standing to return it to her desk.

“I actually had a rehearsal dinner for a wedding tonight,” Anne said, leaning back in the chair to look up at Ann, now across the room. 

“Oh? I’m sorry you’re missing it.”

“I’m not,” Anne said, “I didn’t want to go, not really.”

“Why not?” 

“It’s,” Anne considered. Should she unleash the Vere story on Ann? It’s not exactly her most flattering. Anne was enjoying this look of adoration, the way Ann seemed to think she was capable of anything. She didn’t want to reveal her vulnerabilities, her failures. “Complicated,” Anne nodded. 

“Well, I’m sure your friends will miss you very much.” Ann said, moving slowly back toward her. Anne hummed, thinking her absences was likely to make her look sore, still pining after Vere. “Selfishly, of course I’m glad you’re here with me.” Ann was now standing next to her, running her hand along Anne’s shoulder. 

Anne grabbed the smaller woman by the waist, slinging her into her lap. She kissed Ann greedily, burying one hand in hair, the other grasping at her thigh. Ann moaned softly at Anne’s roughness, placing her own small hands on Anne’s neck, tangling in the hair at the base of her skull. Good Lord, Anne thought, how could she want anybody this much?

After a few minutes, Anne grew impatient, lifting Ann from her lap to carry her, bridal-style, to the large, plush bed across the room. Ann giggled at the show of strength, wrapping her arms around Anne’s neck, watching her with that wide-eyed expression that made Anne crazy. Anne laid her back softly, hovering over the younger woman and placing kisses along her chin, her neck. She knelt between Ann’s legs, bringing one up to rest on her hip as she slowly ground her hips into the younger woman. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so desperate for another person. Anne moved her hand from Ann’s knee, up her thigh, to the waistband of her jeans. She had just flicked open the button when Ann pulled away. 

“Wait, stop,” Ann whispered, breathless.

“Sorry, what?” Anne said, still lost in the last moment. 

“It’s – too much. It’s too soon,” Ann’s voice was small, her eyes downcast. Anne sat back on her heels, her brow furrowed. She’d gone too far – again. Shit.

“Did I hurt you?” 

“No! It’s not that. It’s – it’s too soon. I’m not …” Ann stumbled over her words, the flush on her face deepening. 

“Not?” Anne asked, her stomach coiling. Not gay, she assumed, not ‘like that,’ as Vere had told her when she’d gotten engaged. Again. This was happening again. Ann was shaking her head, seemingly unable to speak. Anne sighed, trying again, “does it feel wrong?”

“I don’t – not the kissing. Just the – this,” Ann gestured vaguely to her unbutton jeans. Anne nodded. 

Both women spoke at once: “Sorry – ”

Anne smiled sadly, “no, I’m sorry.”

“Did I ruin everything?” 

“No! Of course not,” Anne said, searching for the right words.

“I’ve just never – I mean I’m probably not very good at it. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Anne could almost laugh at the sincerity in Ann’s voice; this poor, sweet girl was scared to death. Of what? Of sex? Maybe. Of sex with a woman? Probably. Of disappointing Anne Lister? Definitely. Anne felt that same twinge of pity and protectiveness in her gut. 

“You can’t disappoint me,” she said softly, “you haven’t.” Anne placed her hand on Ann’s face again, maybe they would kiss once more. Just once, to salvage the night. Just softly to – 

Anne’s phone rang. 

“Shit,” she said, standing and taking the phone from her pocket. “It’s my aunt. She said she wanted to talk to me before bed. I’ve got to go.”  
Ann nodded, smiling minutely. Anne took her hand, gave it a squeeze, and left. 

Anne always felt more settled after talking to her aunt. She’d shared only broad strokes of her blossoming relationship with Miss Walker, but her aunt seemed to fill in the blanks on her own. As she finished up the last few lines of her journal for the day, Anne felt an excitement she hadn’t felt in months, maybe years. Ann may have shied away from her there at the end, but Anne felt confident she’d change her mind. The poor girl was head over heels for her already; Anne would need patience to see the thing through. The way Ann had kissed her on the bed – Good Lord, Anne felt warm just thinking about it. 

She checked her watch. Was it disrespectful to incur a cross in someone else’s bed? What if that someone else looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars? What if that someone kissed you like they wanted to devour you whole? What if – oh Lord, her hand was already moving. 

Anne usually tried not to touch herself to the thought of a new flame. It seemed – anticlimactic. If they hadn’t been together, their first time would live in the shadow of Anne’s fantasy. And that would be unfair. So Anne conjured the old favorite: Mariana in that storm, 10 or 12 years ago. Yeah, this would work. She ran her fingers slowly between her legs, spreading the wetness across her core. Mariana had been so loud that night; Anne started smooth circles in a slow rhythm. Mariana meeting her hand, thrust for thrust; Mariana’s low moans, “how sweet, how delicious.” Anne felt herself grow impossibly wetter, her neck arching back into the pillow. Suddenly, unbidden, Charles’s face appeared. His red, paunchy face with the thinning grey hair. Shit. Think of something else!

Vere kissing her, slowly and drunkenly. Here we go, Anne thought. She was so handsy, so giggly when she drank wine. Anne sped up, her hips rising from the bed. This was working; she felt her stomach muscles contract. Her fingers worked more quickly, strumming her clit desperately. Vere - with her hand on Anne’s knee, Vere - calling out Anne’s name, Vere – on that fucking sofa with Donald. 

Shit. Anne collapsed back onto the bed, catching her breath. Damn it! 

She tried again, this time a faceless fantasy. A petite woman kissing her neck, sitting on her knee, tugging at her hair. Anne exhaled; this would work. She started again, scooting down lower on the bed; she was desperate now, her hips rutting the air of their own accord. The faceless woman was giggling, running her hands across Anne’s stomach; Anne moved faster, closing her eyes tighter. The faceless woman was blonde, her curls spread across a pink and gold bed. Anne rubbed faster, tighter circles; she was so, so close. The blonde woman’s face came into focus: Ann Walker. Anne came, hard, Ann’s name on her gasping lips. 

She caught her breath, staring at the ceiling. 13 days to go.


	4. Tuesday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so very much to everyone who has commented or left kudos. I read these comments over and over again, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your feedback.  
> anyway - smut incoming.

Ann Walker was pretty good at crying. She had a lot of experience – at funerals, in her bed, in line at the self-checkout when the machine won’t scan her tampons and she’s already embarrassed enough and a queue is forming. She’d learned to wear a dress for long, all-day cries; they allowed for more mobility. She understood that a good handkerchief was better than a Kleenex. She was pretty good at crying. 

She had her favorite spots throughout the house, and her ultimate favorite was the living room floor. The floor made for easy transitions between sitting up sobbing and lying down weeping. The light was bright in this room, but not oppressively so. The painting over the mantle was nice, all warm colors and light strokes. So that’s where she parked herself on Tuesday morning: the floor of her living room, back against the wall, tears coming in waves over her. 

Of course she had screwed up this thing with Anne, the voice in her head sneered. What “thing” even was it? Anne Lister hardly had the time or interest to spend days courting her. Ann should enjoy this brief – whatever it was. But no, of course she had pulled back just when Anne wanted her most. The intensity of her feelings, arousal and fear all mixed together, had stymied her, had caused her to chicken out. Of course Ann couldn’t even control her own body, the voice in her head grew louder, reminding her of her failures, her insecurities, her shortcomings. Anne Lister may have been interested in her for a few hours, nearly an entire day, but that would be all over now. They would pass the next 13 days amicably, perhaps exchanging a few words in the hallway, but never recapturing the passion of yesterday. It was over. Ann’s impossible, lifelong dream. She’d lost it in less than a day. 

Ann had tried to Skype Elizabeth, Catherine, Harriet. No answer. She couldn’t even get a response from her family and friends. Her open, blank laptop taunted her from across the room. What a miserable waste of space, the voice whispered. No wonder Anne grew tired of you. Ann let the tears fall, hugging her legs to her chest, her pale pink dress stretching to cover her bare knees.

The door swung open, Anne sweeping inside. She was immaculate; the sight of her took Ann’s breath, as it always did. Her crisp black button-down was tucked neatly into impossibly tight black pants; Anne wondered, had her legs always been so long? Her short black boots were muddy – had Anne been outside, in the garden, without her? Ann felt another wave of despair; Anne had taken a walk without her. Of course. 

“Ann?” Anne spotted her on the floor, hand still on the door knob. 

“I’m so glad to see you,” Ann sniffled, unwilling to meet Anne’s penetrating gaze. 

“What’s happened?” 

“I just – after last night, I didn’t think you’d come back,” Ann managed to raise her head and look at Anne, the expression on her face snatched Ann back from the edge of despair. Pity, yes, but affection crossed Anne’s face as she exhaled and closed the door. She crouched on the floor in front of Ann, taking her hands. 

“You’ll find me a lot more constant than that,” Anne said, squeezing Ann’s hands in her own. 

“I don’t deserve you. I’m not good enough for you. You’re so clever and interesting – you’ll soon get fed up of me,” Ann felt the tears starting anew. 

“You have got to stop having such a poor opinion of yourself. You’re clever; you’re interesting,” Anne was wiping tears from Ann’s cheeks. 

“I was so terrified you wouldn’t want me anymore,” Ann whispered.

“Why?” there was a genuine surprise in Anne’s voice.

“Because of last night. Because I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

Anne sighed, pressing her forehead to their clasped hands before settling herself more fully on the ground next to her. 

“These things take time.” Anne wiped tears from her face, then kissed her forehead, her eyelids. Ann wrapped one finger in the hole of Anne’s shirt, where the cuffs buttoned; she traced her fingertip along Anne’s wrist, as Anne pressed a kiss to her jawline. In that moment, Ann felt her breath catch, desire replace despair, then, suddenly, Anne’s lips were on hers. Anne lifted her head, and they made the briefest eye contact before Anne tilted her head, meeting Ann’s lips once again. 

Ann slid her hands down to Anne’s chest, leaning into the kiss, toying with the buttons on Anne’s shirt. Anne placed one hand lightly on Ann’s neck, the other tangling in the hair at her temple. Ann’s lips parted, allowing her tongue to trace, to explore. Anne’s grip on Ann’s hair tightened; Ann could hear her own gasping breath mixing with the wet sounds of their mouths meeting over and over. 

Breathless, Ann pulled away. Anne was grinning that tiny grin, the one that sent Ann’s heart racing; she raised her eyebrows. Wordlessly, she led Ann to the sofa, pulling Ann onto her lap and kissing her fiercely. Ann ran her hands down Anne’s chest, untucking her shirt and slipping her hands along Anne’s flat stomach. Anne practically growled, running her fingertips along Ann’s jaw, her other hand gripping tightly at Ann’s hip. Ann let the feeling of Anne’s lips on hers drown out the voice in her head, push away her doubts. She felt Anne pressing into her, leaning her back against the sofa, her kisses growing sloppier, more desperate. 

Ann laid herself back against the arm of the sofa, Anne hovering over her on one hand, a wicked grin splitting her face. Then Anne’s right hand was everywhere – on her cheek, on her neck, on her breast, on her stomach. Ann bit her lip, pushing that hand further; Anne raised her eyebrows, waiting for Ann. Ann nodded, sinking lower onto the sofa, focusing on Anne’s face above her, Anne’s breath in her ear, Anne’s hand sliding up her leg. Ann said a silent prayer of gratitude that she had thought to wear a dress that day. 

Anne’s hand traced up her calf, across her thigh, to her hip. Her fingers hooked in the waistband of Ann’s panties, slowly bringing them down to the floor; the entire time Anne held her in the most intense eye contact Ann had ever experienced. She could cry from the intimacy of it, the power Anne held over her, the desperation she felt. Before Ann could spend much longer thinking, Anne’s hand was tracing up her leg again, then the inside of her thigh, nudging her legs farther apart. 

At the first touch to her center, Ann jolted, gasping. Anne smiled, kissing her deeply; Ann caught Anne’s bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled away. She was overwhelmed, unthinking, totally lost to the pulsing between her legs. Which is why she had no real justification for what she said next. 

“I love you,” Ann whispered, desperation and urgency and need clouding her voice. Anne grinned, that enormous smile that nearly covered her face. She brought her fingers to Ann’s clit, and the world went black. Ann closed her eyes, bringing her left hand up to Ann’s shoulder to feel the muscle ripple beneath her shirt. Ann felt her orgasm building, more quickly than she’d ever done on her own; she was moaning unabashedly now, her voice hoarse, breathless. Ann felt herself nearly at the precipice when – 

The Skype sound chimed from her computer. 

Anne turned to the open laptop across from them, pulling her hand away. Another chime. Now Ann turned, eyes slowly focusing on the screen. Another chime. Oh God, Ann thought, it’s Eliza Priestly. 

“You’d better answer it, don’t you think?” Anne asked, her voice hoarse as well, her cheeks rosy. 

“Yes, I guess,” Ann stood and straightened her skirt, running a hand through her hair, “I guess I’d better.” She clicked on the green icon; Eliza’s face filled the screen.

“Ann! I heard about your cook,” Eliza said, her voice much too loud, “I wondered if you were ill.” 

“Uh, no, Dr. Lister, actually, has been staying with me,” Ann gestured vaguely behind her. 

It was then that Ann and Eliza realized what was happening behind them. Seemingly oblivious to them both, Anne Lister was rebuttoning the bottom buttons of her shirt. She was retucking it into her rumpled slacks. And now, worst of all, she was picking up Ann’s discarded panties from the floor, and – Ann couldn’t believe it – stuffing them in her pocket. 

“You!” Eliza cried, “you were –“ Eliza gestured between the two women. 

“Dr. Lister was exposed to the virus,” Ann tried to explain. “We’re self-quarantining.”

“Is – is - is that what you call it?” Eliza sputtered. 

“Eliza,” Anne said, stepping closer to the laptop, her voice low and authoritative.

“Don’t you ‘Eliza’ me,” Eliza scolded, “for years, I have defended you against comments. And here you are. Using a global pandemic for your – for your – for your indecency. This virus is no joke. You’re playing with fire. Do you understand? Both of you.”

Eliza’s face vanished. Ann slowly closed the laptop. Holy shit, she thought. Holy shit! Eliza Priestly, of all people. Just caught me (of all people) hooking up with Anne Lister (of all people!). She couldn’t believe it. She turned to Anne, who, for the first time ever, seemed unsure of what to say. Ann’s light pink panties still stuck out from her pocket. Ann giggled. 

The look of confusion on Anne’s face made her laugh harder. Eliza Priestly catching Ann Walker getting felt up by Anne Lister. On the couch. In the middle of the morning. During a self-induced quarantine. She doubled over she was laughing so hard. She wiped tears from her eyes, straightening and turning to meet Anne’s incredulous expression. 

“Shall we go upstairs?”

Anne opened her mouth wordlessly, that gleam of excitement already returning to her eyes. Ann grabbed her hand and led her upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind them. Ann planted herself against the door, smiling and swallowing nervously. This was it. This was really happening.

But before Ann had a chance to think about it too much, Anne was on her again, holding Ann’s face in her hands, pressing her back against the door with her hips. Anne kissed her fiercely, desperately; Ann brought her hands up to Anne’s arms, her wrists, grasping at the older woman for dear life. Anne pulled back, looked at the bed, then looked back at Ann. She pulled Ann away from the door, spinning her to press her back against the bedspread; she snatched a pillow from the headboard, bringing it under Ann’s head before settling more fully on top of her. 

Ann was mesmerized by the wolfish grin covering Anne’s face through all of this. She seemed so excited, happy, joyful; she was nothing like the overtly serious and sensual women Ann had seen having sex in movies. Anne was bright-eyed and smiling, taking Ann to bed in the middle of the morning, a far cry from the grave-faced, dark-night, solemnity Ann had expected accompanied sex. Even as she kissed Ann’s lips quickly once, twice, a third time, Anne was grinning. She was having so much fun.

Anne bunched Ann’s skirt up around her waist, revealing her still-bare, still-wet core. Ann’s eyes slipped closed. She felt soft kissed pressed to her calf, Anne’s wet tongue tracing a path up over her knee, her long fingers running along the inside of her thigh. Ann gasped, a soft moan escaping her; Anne was kissing her stomach, her ribcage, just below her bra. Ann was desperate, nearly mad with want, bucking her hips into the air. Anne’s hand slid higher up her leg. 

And just like that, suddenly, Anne was inside her. Ann felt Anne’s long, dexterous finger slip between her folds; she gasped at the intrusion, feeling Anne’s hot breath on her ear. Anne started a slow rhythm, whispering into Ann’s ear how well she was doing, how beautiful she was. Ann rolled her hips, starting to meet Anne’s thrusts; Anne hummed, kissing the side of her face, her jaw, her neck. Ann grabbed at Anne’s shoulder, feeling her strength, silently begging her to speed up. Anne had her own ideas, it would seem, and brought a second finger to join the first, eliciting a sharp moan from the younger woman. Ann felt herself hurtling for the precipice, Anne’s slow, steady thrusts driving her mad. She forced her eyes open, tried to ask for more, but she couldn’t speak. Anne’s eyes shone, hovering over her, that damned fiendish grin covering her face; she leaned down, covering Ann’s lips with her own as she brought her thumb to Ann’s clit. Coherent thoughts were a thing of the past. Ann felt her body shake as wave after wave crashed into her; Anne’s ministrations grew more and more gentle, until she finally pulled her hand away entirely, collapsing on the bed at Ann’s side. 

Ann stared at the ceiling, catching her breath, acutely aware that this was quite possibly the best moment of her life. She rolled onto her side to find Anne watching her, the fiendish grin gone. Did Anne Lister look … vulnerable? Ann took Anne’s hand in hers, splaying the fingers out, toying with her ring. Anne placed a kiss on the back of Ann’s hand, a smile slowly spreading across her face. This wasn’t the hungry, mischievous grin of a few moments ago; this was something softer, kinder, more tender. Ann placed a soft kiss on that smile, snuggling in to Anne’s arms. Anne hummed in contentment. 

From above her, Ann heard, “what are we going to do about Eliza?” The bed shook with their laughter.


	5. Tuesday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again to everyone who comments and leaves kudos - y'all are the best! hope everyone is staying safe and healthy out there.

Anne kissed Ann’s stomach, between her breasts, her lips, as she made her way back up the younger woman’s body. She flopped over next to Ann as they both caught their breath. Anne turned her head, marveling at the satisfied smile on Ann’s face, swinging their still-clasped hands up, away from the sheets, then back down. She couldn’t believe how her day had progressed. Anne never had this long with a woman, not since boarding school. She was usually lucky to get a quick fumble in a closet, the bathroom at a party, a guest bedroom. To spend all day in bed like this? What a luxury. 

Anne’s need to check the time surfaced, however, and she rolled over to grab her phone from the nightstand. 5:40. She clicked her tongue, speaking over her shoulder.

“My aunt is calling me in 20 minutes.” She’d made the arrangements that morning, promised to be free. Anne had never imagined she’d spend the majority of her day with her head between young Miss Walker’s thighs. 

“Oh no, you –” Ann started, lunging for the phone. Anne sat up, reaching and protesting, grabbing the phone and Ann’s hand at once. Ann, in an arousing show of strength, used the maneuver to push Anne onto her back, kissing her languidly. Anne tightened her grip around Ann’s bare waist, pressing her hips against Ann's, only faintly aware that she had, indeed, won ownership of the phone as Ann moved her hand up Anne’s arm to her clavicle. Anne let herself sink into the moment, the delicious weight of Ann on top of her, the obscene decadence of her tongue in Anne’s mouth. Until –

“Ann, really, we must get up,” Anne whispered. 

“Okay,” Ann kissed her once more, “if you’re sure.”

Ann stood, her pale frame still flushed from Anne’s attentions. She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. Anne watched her pad into the connected bathroom, eyes dragging up from her slender calves, over her rounded bottom, up each notch of her spine. Little Ann Walker, Anne mused, desire still stirring heavily within her. Anne hadn’t taken her own pleasure today, totally focused on Ann; she preferred it that way, at least in the beginning, usually playing it off as generosity, when, truthfully, Anne was shy. For all her bravado and stern talk and men’s shirts, Anne hated the vulnerability that came from sharing an orgasm with another person. Giving? Certainly, no problem. Receiving? Sharing? It made Anne itch. Her phone rang. 

“Aunt, how are you?” Anne answered on the first ring. Aunt Anne regaled Anne with the daily happenings at Shibden, how they were all getting along without her. Anne heard the shower turn on and decided to slip out of Ann’s bedroom as she listened to Aunt Anne’s report: Eugenie still rather sullen, Joseph still all thumbs, Anne’s father as a deaf as a post. 

“And you, my dear, how are you and Miss Walker getting along?” Aunt Anne asked.

“Well,” Anne put her phone on speakerphone, placing it on the dresser in her own room as she stripped out of her clothes. “We’re getting along rather well. We’ve become very good friends. She confides in me, you know? I think…not that anything’s been said, but I think she may be a prudent match for me. What do you think?”

“She’s twelve years younger than you,” Anne rolled her eyes at her Aunt’s concerns, “I doubt she’s your intellectual equal.”

“Would that matter?” Anne pulled on fresh boxers, a faded t-shirt, “If our tastes were the same and we were fond of one another?”

“I don’t want you to be hurt,” Aunt Anne’s voice was cautious, warning. 

“Like I said,” Anne stepped into grey sweatpants, “nothing has been said yet. We still have 12 more days to go.” 

They discussed the growing concerns, the restaurant shut-downs, the delays in film and television. Twenty minutes later, they said goodbye. Anne felt her stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which wasn’t unusual, but her afternoon activities had been – strenuous to say the least. She made her way to Ann’s bedroom, finding her tucking crisp, clean sheets onto the bed. Ann’s oversized white t-shirt hung around her shoulders, her legs bare. 

“Are you hungry?” Anne asked.

“Starving,” Ann smiled, leading Anne out of the room and down toward the kitchen. 

“I’ll tell you what, Miss Walker, you’ve worn me out,” Anne teased, wrapping an arm around Ann’s waist. 

“I could say the same to you,” Ann shot back. We are well-matched indeed, Anne thought. “Let me cook tonight,” Ann offered. 

“Gladly,” Anne said, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen. She watched Ann root through cupboards, open and close the fridge, bite her lip. The poor girl had no idea what to do. Finally, she started pulling fruit out – strawberries, oranges, melon, grapes. Ann pulled a large plate out from a cabinet (after a few wrong turns, cabinets full of glasses and bowls), laying out fruit in a wide arc. Ann licked her fingertips as she finished, and Anne felt desire coil in her stomach anew. For the moment, hunger won out, and she watched Ann saunter over to her, plate in hand. 

“Dinner is served,” Ann said saucily, but Anne could see the apprehension in her face.

“This is perfect, Ann darling, thank you,” Anne popped a grape in her mouth, watching relief loosen Ann’s shoulders. The poor thing was always so nervous; Anne wished she could set her mind at ease. 

“How was your aunt?” Ann asked, sliding up onto the island, her legs dangling.

“Good,” Anne nodded, watching Ann bite into an orange slice. Her sentence vanished, rolling away with that line of juice slipping down Ann’s chin. Ann caught her stare, bringing her thumb up to wipe at her chin. Anne bit into an orange slice of her own, eyes locked on Ann’s. They ate like that for several long minutes, the sound of their meal filling the room. Desire resurfaced in Anne, so she moved to stand between Ann’s swinging legs. 

“You make me crazy, do you know that?” Anne whispered as Ann hooked her ankles behind Anne’s back. She leaned up, catching Ann’s lips in an orange-flavored kiss. Their lips stuck together, and Ann started grasping at Anne shoulders, trying to bring her closer. Anne moaned, kissing down Ann’s neck, across her clavicle. 

“Lay back,” Anne pushed lightly at Ann’s shoulders. Ann bit her lip as she complied. Anne hoisted herself onto the island, settling on her hands and knees over Ann. 

“Jesus,” Ann whispered, her eyes wide as they roamed Anne’s body over her. 

“What?” Anne smiled, kissing Ann softly.

“How are you so – I mean, you’re so strong,” Ann shivered, “your arms are – I mean, Good Lord.” Ann ran her small hands up Anne’s arms, wrapping around her arms around her neck. 

Anne wasn’t sure what to say, always a little sheepish about her body, so she leaned down to kiss Ann instead. Ann moaned softly against her lips, pulling Anne more fully on top of her. Anne settled in the cradle of Ann’s hips, the younger woman wrapping her legs around Anne’s back. She couldn’t stop herself from thrusting slowly into Ann, grinding their hips together. Anne ran her hand up Ann’s bare leg, pushed up the hem of her t-shirt, moved between her thighs. 

“No underwear? This whole time?” Anne was breathless; Ann nodded back at her, eyes slipping closed as Anne growled in her ear. 

Anne brought her fingertips to Ann’s center, spreading wetness up to her clit. She moved her thumb in slow circles before teasing Ann’s entrance with her middle finger. Anne felt her arm muscles cry out, still sore from the day’s work, but Ann was so gorgeous, so desperate. She plunged a finger inside, but, when she did, her wrist cracked loudly. 

“Anne?” Ann’s eyes shot open, “what was that?”

Anne laughed at the girl’s worry, pulling her hand away. Ann whimpered at the loss. 

“Here,” Anne pressed Ann’s knee down, flat against the island, allowing Anne to straddle one of her thighs and settle on Ann’s left side, the angle much easier on her arm. “That’s better.”

Ann nodded, her tongue poking out between her lips. Anne took the opportunity to dive back into Ann, eliciting a low moan from the woman below her. This was the best part, Anne thought, feeling Ann thrust back against her, meeting her hand. She slid a second finger in next to the first, reveling in the soft whine from Ann. Anne couldn’t resist grinding her own core against Ann’s leg, grateful for the change in position. She felt the now-familiar indications Ann was close: her hips rising into the air, her leg muscles tensing, her hands grasping almost painfully at Anne’s hair, her quiet whispers of “yes, yes, yes.” Anne moved her thumb faster, harder over Ann’s clit, kissing her neck as she came undone. Ann’s body seized as her orgasm washed over her before finally collapsing, spent. 

Ann opened her eyes slowly, a tired, satisfied smile on her lips. Anne sat back on her heels, still straddling Ann’s leg, her core almost painfully wet. She’d need to get upstairs soon, relieve this pressure. 

“What about you?” Ann’s voice was low, hoarse. 

“What about me?” Anne teased.

“Did you …” Ann gestured vaguely with her hand. Anne couldn’t help laughing and shaking her head. 

“No,” Anne said slowly, “I’ll see to it later.” She winked at Ann, hoping her bravado would assuage the girl, convince her Anne didn’t mind. And she didn’t. Not really. It wasn’t Ann’s fault. If anything it was Anne’s preference, a way of keeping distance, of avoiding vulnerability. 

“Can I watch?” Ann whispered as she sat up. Anne’s mouth went dry.

“Wh – what?” 

“I’d like to see you, when you – you know,” Ann’s cheeks were red, but her eyes were sure. 

“Would you?” Anne asked. 

“I’d like to have you right now, if you’d let me.”

Anne swallowed, her heart racing. She could refuse Ann, and probably not much would change. She would be safer that way. Or she could let Ann – oh Lord – watch her. That seemed impossibly dangerous. Or she could lower her walls, just this once. Between the pooling wetness in her boxers and the look on Ann’s face, the choice was clear. 

“Alright.” Anne whispered. Ann’s smile was so wide it almost overtook her face. 

Ann moved her leg from under Anne, sliding off the island and onto the floor. Anne tilted her head; did she mean to go upstairs?

“Lay back,” she repeated Anne’s words back to her, tugging at the waistband of Anne’s sweatpants. Anne complied, resting her head on the cool granite, giving herself over to the feeling of Ann’s nimble fingers sliding down her legs. “Scoot down,” Ann whispered as she pulled at Anne’s hips. 

Anne moved her hips nearly to the edge of the island, bending her knees and hooking her feet on the edge. She watched Ann sink to her knees, her face disappearing from view. Until, Good Lord, Anne felt her tongue. Ann moved slowly, deliberately, exploring every inch of Anne’s center. Anne moaned, low in her throat, when Ann ran her tongue up one side and down the other. She was lapping eagerly at Anne’s wetness, but avoiding her clit. Anne tried to relax into the sensation, to enjoy Ann’s languid strokes, but, damn it, she’d been on edge for hours now. She was desperate. 

Anne brought her hands to Ann’s head, tangling in her blonde curls. Gently, she maneuvered Ann up, to where she needed her most. Anne moaned at the contact, her eyes shifting closed, her back arching away from the island. Faintly, she heard a hum of approval between her legs, but she couldn’t focus on it. Because she was almost there, she was so close, her hips rutting roughly against Ann’s mouth, her knuckles white as she held Ann in place. Ann brought her clit into her mouth and sucked, and Anne saw stars. She gasped, nearly sitting up as she felt the waves crash into her, humping Ann’s face as she came undone. 

At last, she collapsed back. Ann pulled away, her face shining and smiling. Anne laughed, breathless. She couldn’t believe it. Little Ann Walker. Making her come harder than she had in years. She caught her breath, slowly sat up, took Ann’s face in her hands. Anne tried to come up with something witty to say, or something sincere, anything. She drew a blank, so she leaned in to kiss Ann, softly, tasting herself on Ann’s lips. 

“Let’s go to bed,” she whispered, standing and pulling her boxers and sweats back on. 

“We’ve got to put all this fruit away,” Ann teased, smacking Anne lightly on the ass. Anne groaned, but she helped Ann put back the fruit they hadn’t eaten, wash the plate in the sink, wipe down the island they had so defiled. 

“Now?” Anne asked. 

“Now,” Ann nodded, taking her hand as they went upstairs. 

As they got into Ann’s bed, Anne checked her phone. A few emails from her publisher: she really should do some work tomorrow. A text from Eugenie, asking for time off. 3 texts from Mariana, dirty ones. Shit. She’d forgotten her invitation to Mariana. Anne locked her phone and placed it hurriedly on the nightstand.

“Everything okay?” Ann asked, sinking low into the pillows and wrapping her arms around Anne’s middle. Her eyelids were already drooping. 

“Yes,” Anne said quickly, kissing the top of Ann’s head, “everything is great.”


	6. Wednesday Morning

Ann woke slowly; first she was aware of the arms circling her waist, then the warm sun streaming in the window, then the soft kisses at her neck. She would give up her entire fortune to wake up like this every day for the rest of her life. She moaned softly and pressed back against Anne’s hard body. 

“Good morning,” Anne whispered in her ear. Ann’s response caught in her throat when Anne’s hand drifted under her sleeping shirt; her warm fingers slid up Ann’s hip, over her ribcage, cupping her breast. Ann gasped at the touch – was she already wet? Good Lord. Anne’s other arm slid between Ann and the mattress, now massaging both breasts as she ran her teeth along the tendon in Ann’s neck. Ann’s hips started a rhythm of their own, followed closely by Anne’s. 

Anne’s hand trailed back down her stomach, slipping between her legs. Ann gasped as Anne circled her nipple, her clit. Fuck, she was good at this. Anne was breathing heavily in her ear, the sensation making Ann pant harder, rut her hips faster. Ann reached her arm behind her to grasp at Anne’s hip, pulling the older woman impossibly closer. Anne slid her hand lower, teasing her entrance, before she thrust into her; Ann whimpered at the intrusion, at the feeling of Anne all around her. Anne moved more quickly, her hips, her hands, her teeth. Ann seized once, her whole body taut against Anne’s, before letting her orgasm overwhelm her. She sagged back against Anne, breathless, feeling like jelly. 

“Good morning,” she managed after a few minutes. She rolled onto her back and smiled up at Anne, who was balancing her head on her fist. Anne grinned before rolling over to check her phone. Ann had noticed this time-keeping obsession in Anne, but she didn’t let it bother her today. 

Anne sat up and frowned at her phone, typing quickly.

“Any news?” Ann asked, noticing the way Anne angled the phone away from her.

“Um, no,” Anne said distractedly as she typed, “a message from my publisher. A, uh, a few from my friend Mrs. Lawton. One from my assistant.” 

Perhaps it was the early morning, the endorphins still swarming Ann’s brain, or sheer recklessness that made her say what she said next.

“I used to hear rumors about you and Mariana Lawton. They were filthy.”

Anne’s head turned sharply; her eyes narrowed as they searched Ann’s face. Would Anne be angry with her? She regretted her words immediately, and it must have shown on her face. Anne softened, locking her phone and putting it down. She sighed. 

“Yes, a long time ago,” Anne said slowly, “I was – involved – with her.”

“What happened?”

“It was the late ‘90s, and she didn’t want to come out. She wanted a ‘proper’ marriage. We’d been together nearly three years when she, uh,” Anne bit her cheek, “she accepted a proposal from Charles Lawton.”

“That’s awful,” Ann’s heart broke at the pain so evident on Anne’s face. “Do you still see her?”

Anne nodded slowly; Ann could tell she was deciding how much to reveal. Ann had heard the stories, Anne Lister crashing the honeymoon, switching the rings, sleeping in Charles’s place in bed. Was it all true? Would it matter if it was?

“I do,” Anne said softly, “I do still see her. Pretty regularly. We, uh – it’s an old habit.”

“Oh,” was all Ann could muster. Anne wasn’t serious about her, not really. She was hung up on Mariana, who seemed infinitely more worldly and knowledgeable and experienced than Ann. 

“Which is not to say, Miss Walker,” Anne’s confidence was back, her voice low and fiendish, “that I wouldn’t be happy to break that habit.” Her hand slid up Ann’s thigh, clearly trying to distract her. It didn’t work. Ann’s stomach still churned with the thought of Mariana looming over them, over her quickly-growing relationship. Ann took the hand from her thigh, bringing it to her lips. Anne was trying to read her face, Ann could tell, but she wasn’t succeeding. 

“What about you?” Anne asked, “Any old flames?”

“Not really, uh,” Ann hesitated. She shook her head. How could she tell Anne?

“I once heard a rumor – since we’re talking about rumors,” Anne joked, “about you and a Thomas Ainsworth. A reverend?”

Ann's stomach fell. She knew. She already knew. Of course, she knew. Anne Lister knew everything. And she knew Ann was used goods, damaged. She hadn’t been good enough for him; how could she be good enough for Anne? She felt the tears welling in her eyes, gulped the sob back in her throat. She let go of Anne’s hand. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ann’s voice so faint she scarcely heard it herself. 

“That seems a little unfair.” Anne said, her voice guarded. “Do you still see him?”

“He’s married to my friend,” Ann managed, tears starting to roll down her cheeks. 

“So, yes.” Anne’s voice was calculated, cold. “Are you in love with him?”

Ann’s sob broke through; Anne jerked back. She stood, her hair wild around her shoulders, her t-shirt rumpled, her boxers wrinkled and loose around her toned legs. Ann’s heart clenched; she loved Anne – impossibly, deeply, wholeheartedly. And she might lose her this way. But Ann was certain she’d lose her by telling the truth. So she didn’t speak, only exhaling raggedly. 

“So, yes, again. You could be a clergyman’s wife. What a life! Obviously, it needs consideration. And who knows, a mother! In the fullness of time. And then one day a grandmother. And then you really would have fulfilled your destiny on this planet as a woman.”

Ann shot up, kneeling on the bed and shaking her head. She grasped at Anne’s arms, curling her fingers around Anne’s elbows, pulling her to stand at the edge of the bed.

“I’m in love with you,” Ann wept. “I always have been. Ever since I first saw you when I was eighteen. Younger! The first time I saw you, I think I was fourteen. And I knew then. I knew. It’s utterly clear to me now. I’ve so often – whenever I’ve thought of it – felt a repugnance towards forming any sort of connection with the opposite sex.” Ann rested her head on Anne’s chest, the sobs wracking her body. 

“So be honest with me,” Anne said, her grip tight on Ann’s shoulders, trying and failing to force Ann’s head up, to meet her eyeline. “Are you in love with him? Are you committed to him somehow? Are you waiting for him?”

“Anne,” Ann pleaded, hanging her head. How did Anne misunderstand her so thoroughly? How could Anne think she cared about him – about anyone – other than her? How had she ruined all of it so quickly and so completely?

“Because I’ll be honest with you,” Anne said, her voice rising. “I don’t care. I’ll tell you. Mariana? I would throw her over in a moment, if you were serious about me. If you saw a future with me.”

“Anne,” Ann started again, her voice cracking. She couldn’t, she was frozen, she was paralyzed. 

“But I can’t do this. I’ve done this before. You’ve heard rumors, and they’re probably all true. But I’m 42, Ann. I can’t stand another disappointment. You’re going to need to decide. Are you serious about me? I need to knowwhat we’re doing here. I need to know what I’m doing.” 

Anne looked at her expectantly, but Ann could only stare at the woman across from her, the words caught in her throat. She wanted to explain everything, to commit to Anne, to be honest about Thomas for the first time in her life. But she couldn’t. She watched Anne gather her cell phone from the nightstand, her sweatpants from the floor. She didn’t even look at Ann as she left. Ann twisted the sheets in her hands, the tears flowing freely now. It was over. She’d done it. She’d actually, finally ruined her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you thank you thank you thank you for every comment and kudos. I appreciate it so much.


	7. Wednesday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not STAND leaving the Anne(s) like that, so here we go - 2 chapters in a day. TW: Thomas Ainsworth.

Anne stalked out of the room, her head still spinning. She threw her phone and sweats on the guest bed; she tore at her hair with her hands, pacing the room. It was over. She’d lost another one. This was happening to her again. What a dumbass, foolish, childish mistake she’d made, thinking Ann Walker was different. 

“Fuck!” she whispered, sinking into the desk chair by the window. The warm morning sun was shifting, sinking lower, taking them into the afternoon. The day was slipping from her, just as this Ann Walker situation slipped from her. She had misjudged, overstepped, underestimated. She’d thought Ann Walker was a dalliance, a passing distraction, not one of her grand passions. And here she was, heartbroken. She’d let her guard down – that damned kitchen island – and she’d ended up in the same place. Fuck. 

She ran her hands through her hair, tilting her head back to the ceiling. Okay. The good thing was she’d been here before. She could handle this. She started with a brisk shower; the cold water pelting her body, a punishment for her mistakes. She scrubbed every inch of her body, not wanting a trace of Ann on her. She pulled her still-wet hair into a ponytail, pulling on black jeans and a black t-shirt. She forced herself to sit in front of her journal, to actually pour out the events of the past 36 hours, the highs and the lows. 

Anne felt marginally better having done this, and she opened her laptop to work on her research. She lost herself in her writing, her tabs, her outlines for a few hours. Work always helped clear her head; this, at least, was something she could control and predict. She sent her new pages to her editor and pushed away from the desk. 6:15. She was hungry. 

Creeping down to the kitchen, Anne felt like a spy in some low-budget thriller. Every shadow and creak made her think of Ann, made her clench her gut at the thought of seeing her again. They still had a week and a half of this. How was she going to survive? She snagged a bag of pretzels, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter; now she could hole up in her room for a few days and let the dust settle. Perhaps by then her feelings wouldn’t be so strong. Perhaps by then she’d be able to look at Ann without her stomach flipping, her heart stopping. Perhaps. 

She crept back to her room, settling in bed with her laptop to play endless episodes of Law & Order while her eyes glazed over. She stuffed pretzels in her mouth, choking down dry peanut butter sandwiches. Afternoon turned to evening; the room got dark around her. Soon the only light was her laptop screen, and when it died, Anne was left staring at into the blackness. She huffed and closed it. Anne knew she was just about done with the sulking phase, soon to move into the obsessively productive phase. She heaved herself upright to brush her teeth before bed. 

Opening the door to the hallway, Anne was confronted with a bowl of oranges. She tilted her head, confused, then bent to pick up the bowl and carry it back in her room. Beneath the oranges she found a handwritten note and a cloth bag. She opened the note first:

“My love,” Anne furrowed her brow at the affection; she’d spent the majority of the day convincing herself Ann didn’t care for her, and now she was staring at a profession of her love in black and white. Anne ran her thumb over the words before continuing. “I am misery itself knowing I have disappointed and hurt you. I find myself unable to make up my own mind. I want nothing more than to share all of myself with you, but I fear that your knowing the truth will drive us apart. You asked me this morning if I was serious about you. I would like you to decide. In this bag I have written ‘yes’ and ‘no’ on slips of paper. Whichever you draw out first must be the answer. I am yours,” with Ann’s careful signature below. 

Anne clenched her fist, crumpling the note in the process. She shook her head, flattened the note on the desk, reread it. She picked up the cloth bag, something that might’ve held a necklace or earrings. She pulled out a slip of paper: “no.” Fuck this, she thought. 

She pounded out of the room, her footsteps heavy on the old wooden floor. She knocked harshly on Ann’s door. No response. She huffed, hands on her hips, spinning away from the door and looking down the hallway. Where could Ann be? She racked her brain. The living room. Of course. She’d said it was her favorite place to cry. 

Anne clomped down the stairs, clutching the cloth bag in one hand. She swept into the room: no Ann. Shit. She spun around, trying to figure out her next move. James appeared. 

“Ma’am?” 

“Miss Walker,” Anne said tersely. “Where is she?”

“I’ll fetch her,” he turned on his heel and left the room. 

Anne surveyed the room, picking up an old music box and tossing it back on the end table. Her anger simmered. Ann’s answer was worse than a refusal – what was she hiding? Why couldn’t she just tell Anne whatever the hell it was? Anne had bared her soul, told Ann about Mariana's betrayal, the most humiliating failure of her life. And still Ann help back, refused to at least give this thing a shot. Anne recognized it had only been a few days, but, damn it, there was something there. She knew there was. She knew it by the way Ann clutched at her while she slept, the way she kissed her after sex, the way she watched Anne as she spoke. They deserved half a chance. But not if Ann wasn’t serious, not if Ann had someone else. Anne wouldn’t survive it. 

Ann slipped into the room, her hair wild about her shoulders, an oversized hoodie dwarfing her frame, her thin legs poking out from pajama shorts. Her face was red, puffy; new tears formed in her eyes at the sight of Anne. Anne didn’t allow her any time to prepare before she started shouting.

“I’d have known what to do with a yes or a no, but what am I supposed to do with this? Do you think – do you really think that I’m someone to have my future happiness decided by fate? By which bit of paper I pull out of a bag first? Like a raffle ticket?”

Ann mumbled something, her eyes downcast, her head hung low. 

“What?” Anne shouted.

“No,” Ann said, still barely audible. She paused, then: “I couldn’t –”

“What?” Anne said, her tone harsher than she intended. Nothing. She pleaded, “Ann?”

“Nothing,” Ann shook her head.

“I’m taking it as a no,” Anne threw bag onto the couch with disdain, making to walk out of the room.

“It isn’t a no,” Ann said quickly. 

“Well, it isn’t a yes,” Anne shot back, turning on the younger woman. Ann was crying again, her shoulders hunched around her ears, sinking onto the sofa. Pity rose up to replace anger. “Ann? Talk to me.” She knelt at Ann’s feet, “we’re adults. Nothing can be this bad.”

“I’ll never see you again,” Ann choked out.

“What? Why?”

“If I tell you the truth, you won’t want anything do with me.” Ann’s voice was stronger, even as the tears flowed freely. Anne considered the woman before her; clearly whatever she was hiding was weighing on her so heavily as to cause this reaction. She took Ann’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, tilting Ann’s face to meet her eyes. 

“I might surprise you, hm?”

“The Reverend Ainsworth. I have been,” Ann inhaled shakily, “indiscreet with him.” Here she paused; Anne processing her words. With a priest? A man of God? Ann continued, the words tumbling out of her, “He said he was in love with me. And he wanted to marry me, and – and I didn’t want to! But I didn’t know how to say no. And that’s why I was so upset when you asked, because – I never encouraged him,” Ann reached out for Anne’s face, her voice urgent. “I told him I didn’t want to, but he managed situations so he was alone with me, and – but do you understand now? He has had,” Ann looked away, clearly ashamed. Anne felt her stomach turn in pity, revulsion, anger, “intimate knowledge of me.”

Anne needed to know, so she asked, “intimate how?” 

Ann shook her head.

“Kissing?”

Ann nodded.

“Did he – touching?”

Ann hesitated, then nodded. 

“Have you been – together?”

Ann nodded, her eyes screwed tightly shut. 

“Once,” Ann whispered, then, more forcefully: “And this is the thing. Does this not make me damaged goods? Used and discarded? If even Thomas Ainsworth,” Ann’s voice cracked, “doesn’t want me, how could you?”

“Ann,” Anne pleaded. How could she have such a poor opinion of herself? Ann Walker, who’d stolen her heart in two days. Ann Walker, who’d waltzed in and settled herself so perfectly in the empty space in Anne’s arms. Ann Walker, who’d had Anne thinking of matrimony before they’d even kissed. Her voice was soft when she continued, “he inflicted himself on you. He took advantage of you.”

“Yes,” Ann conceded, “but does that not make me -?”

“Ann,” Anne’s voice rose as she stood, “You have nothing to be ashamed of. None of this was your fault. And a man of God, a curate for Christ’s sake. You did absolutely nothing wrong.”

“You’re shouting; you’re cross,” Ann said, her voice shaking again. Anne sank back to her knees in front of her.

“I’m not cross with you; I’m not shouting at you,” the tenderness in Anne’s voice surprised even her. “I’m glad you’ve told me. Ann,” she paused until Ann looked at her, “Ann. This is not your fault.”

Ann nodded, sniffling

“And damaged goods? Good Lord,” Anne laughed, “the rumors you’ve heard about me? They’re all true. Yes, I got kicked out of boarding school for fucking my roommate. Yes, she was briefly institutionalized after I left. Yes, I used to have sex with Tib Norcliffe – a lot – before she drank herself to idiocy.” Anne was grinning, enjoying her confession; Ann was wide-eyed, surprised, but a smile played at her lips. “Yes, I switched the rings at Mariana’s wedding and followed her on her honeymoon and fucked both of her sisters. Yes, I screwed Sibella MacLean on every flat surface in Scotland while I got my Ph.D., then I ran off to Paris to research and shack up with Maria Barlow. Yes, I pined after Vere Hobart for a season, but she could only kiss me while drunk, so it shouldn’t have been such a surprise when she accepted a proposal from some guy named Donald. But it knocked me flat, and I was trying to recover from that when I ended up here. And in two days, you have knocked on me on my ass once more.”

Ann was laughing and wiping her eyes. 

“So what this piece of shit, Thomas Ainsworth, did to you? I don’t care. I don’t. I care about you, okay?” Anne nodded, waiting for Ann to mirror her. “Are you serious about me?”

“Yes,” Ann breathed, “of course, absolutely.”

“Good,” Anne grinned so hard her cheeks hurt, “me too. Can we go upstairs?”

Ann bit her lip and nodded. Anne took her hand and led her from the room, looking both ways as they reached the stairwell. Empty. Anne pressed Ann against the wall at the base of the stairs, pressing her hips into Ann’s. Ann’s bright blue eyes threatened to drown Anne, so deep was the feeling there. Anne felt her chest tighten; she hadn’t felt this way in years. Desire was familiar, anger was a comfort, sadness, even, was manageable. This tenderness? It scared her. 

Anne dipped her head, kissing Ann deeply, running her hands over Ann’s hips, up under her thighs. She lifted the younger woman up, Ann’s legs wrapping around her waist. Ann giggled, pressing her face into Anne’s neck as they climbed the stairs. Anne groaned at the soft kisses Ann pressed along her collarbone, gripping Ann’s ass more firmly. She kicked open Ann’s bedroom door, pressing Ann into the wall just inside. Anne attacked Ann’s mouth, impatiently rutting her hips against Ann’s core. Ann tore her lips away, moaning as Anne moved to place wet kisses along her neck. 

She turned them away from the wall, depositing Ann on the bed gently. Anne stepped back, admiring Ann spread before her. She leaned over, unzipping Ann’s hoodie slowly. The thin white tank top underneath stopped Anne’s breath. She was overwhelmed with desire to rip Ann’s clothes off, to take her roughly, to draw breathless cries from that pale white throat. But she held back, knowing she’d better take her time, after the day they’d had. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of Ann’s shorts, raising her eyebrows.

“Please,” Ann breathed, lifting her hips. Anne grinned as she slid the shorts down; Ann had nothing on underneath. 

“We’ve really got to talk about your never wearing underwear, Miss Walker,” Anne teased, tugging off her boots before crawling on top of the other woman. Ann opened her mouth to retort, but Anne silenced her with a fierce kiss. Ann sat up and shrugged out of the hoodie, pulling away from Anne to rip the tank top over her head. Ann settled back on her elbows, quirking her eyebrow at the older woman. 

Anne pushed Ann back into the mattress, assailing her lips, her jaw, her neck. She couldn’t get enough; she ran her hands through Ann’s hair, over her breasts, along her hips. Anne felt drunk, giddy at the feeling of Ann below her. She thrust her thigh between Ann’s; Ann moaned, but pulled away.

“Wait,” she whispered, “take these off.” Ann carefully unbuttoned Anne’s jeans, slid the zipper down, tugged at the waistband. Anne stood, shucking the pants, but keeping her t-shirt and boxers. She stood in front of Ann for a moment, hoping Ann would understand, wouldn’t question her desire to keep these pieces on. She wasn’t ready, not yet, to bare herself fully. 

“Come here,” Ann said, her voice playful; Anne's heart soared - Ann did understand, and she still wanted her. Anne descended on her once more, again fitting her leg between Ann’s thighs. She started a slow rhythm against Ann’s center, grateful now that she could feel Ann’s heat on her skin. Anne balanced herself on one hand, as she brought the other up to toy with Ann’s breast. Ann moaned, arching her back up and into Anne’s touch. Anne felt her grin spreading; there was really nothing better than this. 

Except, perhaps, the feeling of Ann’s nipple in her mouth, the sensation of Ann’s fingers grasping at her hair, the wetness coating both their thighs. Anne brought her hand down, between their bodies, to stroke lightly at Ann’s core. Ann whined, bringing her hips up from the mattress. Anne continued toying with her, enjoying the desperation on Ann’s face, the way her hands gripped her hair and her bicep. 

“Anne,” she whined, “please.”

“What?” Anne feigned confusion.

“I need you.”

“I’m here,” Anne was purposefully obtuse. She knew full well what Ann wanted; she wanted to hear her say it.

“I need you,” Ann panted, “inside me.”

“Oh?” Anne plunged two fingers into her wet, warm depths. Fuck, she could drown in this feeling. She bit Ann’s neck softly, curling her fingers with every thrust, her thumb slipping over Ann’s clit. Ann was moaning in earnest now; poor James, Anne hoped he’d gone to bed already. Anne moved her hips to match her hand’s pace; the headboard now rocked against the wall with the force of her thrusts. 

“Can you-” Anne panted, “your knee?” She needed something, anything to rock against; her clit was screaming for it. 

“What?” Ann was breathless; “oh,” she nodded as she bent her knee, bringing it up against Anne’s core. They moaned in unison at the contact. 

Now was the best bit, Anne thought. Her hips moving in orchestra with her hand, rutting into Ann, rutting onto her firm thigh. The feeling of Ann’s tight walls clenching around her fingers, the dirty sound of their skin meeting, the sweat gathering at Ann’s hairline. The rough friction of the seam of her boxers rubbing at her clit, the breathy moans escaping Ann’s lips, the soreness in her arm, her abs, her shoulder. Anne could tell Ann was close, knew she herself was right behind. She lowered her lips to Ann’s ear. 

“You’re so fucking hot, do you know that?” Anne growled. Ann whimpered in response, raising her hips urgently. “You’re doing so well,” Anne continued, eliciting those high-pitched breathy moans she loved so much. “Come for me, Ann; you’re so close, come for me.”

And with that, Ann was gone. Anne felt her inner walls clench, her back arch off the bed, her hands grip impossibly tighter at Anne’s shoulders. Anne moved her hips quickly on Ann’s thigh, losing her rhythm, desperate for her own release. She was so close; she just needed –

“Yes, yes,” Ann was panting, moving her hands to Anne’s hips, pulling her forcefully into her, “darling, yes.” That’s all it took. Anne felt her orgasm wash over her, collapsing on top of Ann with a shudder. Ann traced lightly along her back as Anne caught her breath. Anne rolled off of her, onto her side. 

“I love you,” Ann whispered, her smile so delicate and careful it nearly broke Anne’s heart. She wasn’t ready to say those words, not yet. For twenty years, she hadn’t said them to anyone but Mariana, and then only sparingly. She wasn’t ready to acknowledge her love for Ann, as real as it was. So she leaned in to kiss Ann slowly, softly. She hoped that would be close enough for Ann, for tonight. From the way Ann snuggled into her side as Anne pulled the covers over them both, she knew it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am more than a little nervous about this chapter. I tried to update the Ainsworth stuff to make it more modern and fit the circumstances. I didn't want Mrs. Ainsworth to die of coronavirus; I didn't want to use the very real deaths out there for this. I also didn't think it was as plausible for a woman today to feel committed to a man because they'd been together. So I wanted to make it more about Anne wanting to know Ann's motivations, Ann feeling like she wasn't good enough, and of course her shame and trauma around what Ainsworth did to her. I'm not sure I succeeded with it, so I'm anxious to hear your thoughts! If I were a better writer I wouldn't need this long-winded explanation, but here we are.


	8. Thursday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your readership, comments, and kudos. I can't tell you what it means to me. Particular shoutout to firstdown whose thoughtful comment on the last chapter helped me reevaluate how I think about this story. Thank you. And thank you to everyone who has left a comment - they really do help me become a better writer. Keep 'em coming - your feedback fuels me.  
> anyway - a bit of fluff for your Saturday morning.

Ann woke up sore, in her neck, between her legs, along her back. Shit, her back. She tried to roll over in bed, but her back screamed in protest. Damn. She inhaled sharply, then flopped onto her back. She huffed an exhale. This was going to be a tough day. Her arm reached out as she turned her head to Anne’s side of the bed: empty. Ann groaned and closed her eyes. Anne was off somewhere being vital and commanding and strong. Here she was trapped in bed, tangled sheets wrapped around her, sun not even risen yet. The clock on the landing chimed five times. Her eyes slipped closed, and she let sleep overtake her. 

She dreamed she was walking in the woods; the air was cool and still, broken only by the crunching leaves under her feet. Suddenly Anne was there, her grin so wide it was infectious; she was grabbing Ann’s hand, leading her deeper into the forest. They reached a clearing, a small hut with a thatched roof in the center. Anne looked back at her, still so clearly excited. Suddenly Ann found herself pressed against the rough wall of the hut, Anne’s hands running along her hips, Anne’s teeth grazing at her neck. Ann rut her hips roughly against Anne, longing for contact, for friction, for something. Anne lifted her legs around her waist, pressing Ann more firmly against the wall behind her. She split Ann in two, her long, skilled fingers entering her roughly over and over again. Ann bit at her neck to keep from crying out, her hips meeting Anne's frantic motions. She was so close, she was nearly there, Anne was gripping her thigh, whispering her name.

And then she opened her eyes. Anne was sitting on the edge of the bed, her slacks and collared shirt so starkly black against the white sheets; Anne’s hand was on her thigh, as she smiled softly at Ann. She sat up painfully, Anne gripping her upper arms to help. Ann’s back still protested; she was winded just from that small exertion. 

“Good morning,” Anne whispered. 

“What time is it?” Ann felt bleary-eyed, her head muddled. 

“10:22,” Ann would’ve laughed at Anne’s precise timekeeping if she weren’t in so much pain. “Did you sleep well?”

“I don’t know,” Ann groaned; “I heard the clock strike five, and then, I guess I fell back asleep.”

Anne was nodding, clearly trying to assess Ann, trying to figure out what was wrong. 

“I get this back pain,” Ann explained, “the doctors say I have a weak spine, or maybe fibromyalgia, or anemia, or something like that. It’s always different – unclear – the diagnosis. It comes and goes. I’ll call Dr. Day later.”

Anne nodded again. It struck Ann at that moment that Anne didn’t know what it meant to be sick, to be chronically sick. She could tell Anne wasn’t sure what to say, what to do, so she tilted her chin up, asking silently for a kiss. Anne obliged, tilting her head to meet Ann’s lips, the grip on Ann’s leg tightening. She pulled back, but Ann wasn’t finished with her. She reached behind Anne’s neck, wrapping her hand lightly in the hair at the nape of her neck, pressing her lips to Anne’s once more. Ann opened her eyes as she pulled away, smiling wanly. 

“I’m glad I told you… what I told you yesterday,” Ann said softly, “but I feel so…humble and depressed in my own opinion of myself.”

“Yes, well don’t,” Anne’s voice was strong, her eyes fiery. “You did nothing wrong. You are blameless. And if you want to speak with a therapist or a counselor, I support you in that. Or if you want me to castrate that worthless wretch, I support that as well.”

Ann laughed, then winced. Her back really did hurt. 

“Now this back pain, that’s not…” Anne trailed off, her eyes drifting down Ann’s body, then back up. “I mean, I didn’t…” Anne gestured vaguely with her hand. 

“No, Anne,” Ann said sternly, “you did not blow my back out. I have chronic back problems.”

Anne nodded seriously, which made Ann laugh, which made Anne laugh too. But laughing hurt, and soon Ann was wincing again. 

“Come on,” Anne said, standing and pulling the sheets back, “let’s get you washed and dressed. Make you feel brighter.”

Ann slid slowly to the edge of the bed, gritting her teeth with every movement. She stood weakly, tilting her head back as she adjusted to the pain. It was different standing, not better, but different. She inhaled.

“Do you need help?” Anne was hovering nearby, seemingly paralyzed with uncertainty.

“I’m not sure I’m up for a shower, to be honest,” Ann said, stepping gingerly to the adjoining bathroom; “might have to be a bath.”

The tile was cold under Ann’s feet; she shivered at the coolness of the room. It only now occurred to her that she was still naked, never having redressed last night. Anne followed her; Ann could see her assessing the bathroom, pulling Ann’s robe from the hook on the wall, wrapping it around Ann’s shoulders. 

“Here,” she said, easing Ann onto the bench beside the tub. Anne knelt, fiddling with the faucets, testing the water, humming softly. Ann watched as she puttered around the bathroom, investigating cabinets, the closet full of towels, the dozens of little bottles lining the countertop. The tub filled, and Anne held her hand out. Ann took it, heaved herself up, slipped the robe from her shoulders, then gingerly lowered her aching body into the hot water. 

“This is perfect, Anne,” she sighed; “thank you.” Ann leaned back against the tub, sinking lower beneath the water. Anne sat on the floor next to her, only her head and shoulders visible above the side of the tub; she traced her index finger in the water, that fiendish look returning to her face. “No, Anne,” Ann warned, “I can’t – I can’t take it. With my back the way it is.” 

“What?” Anne feigned confusion. 

“Anne, I know that look, and I know what kind of thoughts you’re having right now.”

“Miss Walker,” Anne gasped, “you have the dirtiest mind. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but-”

Ann laughed, bringing her wet hand to hold Anne’s. 

“Where were you this morning?” Ann asked quietly; “five o’clock in the morning, I woke up and you were gone. 

“I was walking,” Anne answered, swinging their hands above the water. “It’s my habit, in the mornings. Do you mind?”

“No! No, just, uh, just wondered.”

Silence stretched between them. Ann could tell Anne was antsy, wanted to do something; she was about to tell Anne she could leave, that she’d be just fine by herself, when Anne spoke. 

“What are you reading right now? I’ll read to you. How about that?”

“Nothing,” Ann felt she could hardly tell Anne she barely read, hadn’t finished a book in years. Anne looked momentarily deflated, so Ann continued, “maybe you could pick something for me.”

Anne’s face lit up like a child on Christmas morning; she stood hurriedly, her eyes wide with excitement. 

“I will be right back!” She rushed from the room. Ann laughed and sunk lower into the water. What would she have done if Anne weren’t here? Suffer in bed all day. Moan to Catherine or Harriet or both. Watch episode after episode of Love Island. Wait for the hours to pass. 

She was reflecting on the drastic change in her life compared to just a few days ago when Anne reentered, breathless. Anne had perhaps a dozen books in her arms; she’d pulled her hair back from her face, piled it high on her head, rolled her sleeves up to the elbow. She was straight out of Ann’s fantasies, and Ann made a mental note to have Anne revisit this look when she was recovered.

“So I’ve just brought a few. I wanted you to have options,” Anne splayed the books on the bathroom floor, sitting cross-legged behind them. The books were all paperbacks, well-loved, clearly read and reread often, with covers falling off and curling up at the edges. 

“Are these all yours?” Ann asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Anne was rearranging the books, putting them in some kind of order. 

“You brought these? To the quarantine?” Ann stifled her laughter. Anne was so serious. 

“Well, yes,” Anne’s eyes were still on the books; “I never travel with fewer than 20 books.”

Ann’s mouth fell open. Anne finally looked up, her brow still furrowed in concentration.

“What?” Anne asked.

“You’re just - you’re very cute like this,” Ann grinned. 

“Cute?” Anne scoffed, “I have been called many things, but cute is not one of them.”

“Too bad,” Ann said, “you’re very cute to me.” She tilted her chin up; Anne leaned her long body over the edge of the tub, granting her kiss. She bit Ann’s bottom lip softly as she pulled away. 

“Cute,” she harrumphed, before turning serious. “Now, how is your conversational French?”

“Uh,” Ann hesitated. “What’s worse than terrible?”

Anne nodded gravely. She picked up three books from the array and set them aside. Had Anne really meant to read to her in French?

“Latin, then, is…” Anne looked up hopefully.

“Nonexistent.”

“Right,” two more books joined the discard pile. Ann watched her incredulously. 

“British or American author?”

“Um, American, let’s say,” Ann ventured. 

Anne added three more books to the rejects. Only two remained. 

“Fiction or nonfiction?”

“Fiction,” Ann said resolutely.

“Fried Green Tomatoes,” Anne held up the winner, a small, well-worn paperback with a fraying spine and dozens of pages dog-eared. 

“I saw the movie!” Ann was relieved to have some frame of reference. 

“Excellent,” Anne purred, scooting over to lean her back against the tub. Ann admired the tendons in her neck, disappearing under the high collar of shirt; she ran her fingertips along the line of wispy hairs that had escaped Anne’s bun, massaged lightly at the base of her scalp.

Under duress, Ann could probably report most of the plot of the first hundred pages of Fried Green Tomatoes. Probably. But the majority of her attention was focused on Anne’s low, melodic voice, the slight swaying of her crossed feet stretched in front of her, the way she shivered when Ann ran her fingers below her collar. The intimacy of the moment nearly overwhelmed Ann; her love for Anne threatened to bowl her over. The woman of her dreams, of a thousand teenage fantasies, was sitting on her bathroom floor, reading a book to her while she soaked in the bath. Surely this was paradise. 

Anne finished the chapter and turned to face Ann, her eyes lively and mischievous. She leaned in to kiss Ann once, twice, a third time. She pulled away reluctantly; Ann whimpered at the loss. 

“I can think of only one way to improve this morning,” Anne’s voice was low, “but I will resist the temptation as you are in pain.” 

Ann sighed. Damn this body of hers. She wanted nothing more than to yank Anne into the tub with her, wrap her legs around Anne’s waist as she carried her to bed, spend the rest of the day at Anne’s mercy. But she couldn’t. She appreciated Anne’s thoughtfulness, her patience. 

“Thank you,” Ann whispered. “Will you help me stand up?”

She took Anne’s proffered hand, rising slowly. The warm bath certainly had helped; her back felt better, if not completely healed. 

“Would you do me a favor?” Ann said as she dried her body, trying to ignore the lascivious look spreading over Anne’s face. 

“I would do anything for you,” Anne growled, wrapping her arm around Ann’s waist and pulling her flush to her. Anne’s shirt buttons pressed into Ann’s stomach, her slacks rough against Ann’s hips. 

“Calm down, Pony,” Ann laughed and pushed lightly on Anne’s chest. She stepped away and picked up the cream Dr. Day had prescribed. “Would you rub my back?”

“Of course,” Anne nodded, taking the jar from her and examining it as they returned to the bedroom. 

Ann laid on her front in bed. She rested her head on her arms, turning to the side to find Anne, who was, inexplicably, taking off her pants. 

“Anne,” Ann groaned, “I’m sorry, my darling, but –”

“No!” Anne looked down the pants in her hands as if she was just discovering them, “shit. I didn’t – I’m not – these pants are very tight.” Ann nodded slowly, unsure where Anne was going with this. “So I thought I might – well, I thought I might kneel over you, you know, to rub your back. But I’d be liable to split my pants, so I figured…”

Ann laughed, hard. Anne sheepishly hung her pants over the back of Ann’s vanity chair; she tugged her boxers down a bit, as if trying to make them longer. She stepped up to the bed, jar in hand. 

“Is that okay?” Anne’s voice was apprehensive. 

“Yes, of course,” Ann was still laughing; “yes, thank you.”

Ann felt the bed sink under Anne’s knees, then Anne hovering over her. She heard the jar snap open, the familiar liniment smell filling the air. Anne’s warm, strong hands kneaded her shoulders. Ann relaxed into the sensation, both of Anne’s hands on her back and the crotch of Anne’s boxers resting on the backs of her thighs. She tried not to the think about the latter too much. Anne slowly worked her way down Ann’s back; her movements were so gentle Ann felt her eyelids growing heavy, until they closed entirely.


	9. Thursday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, y'all are nice. I am so so appreciative for every comment and kudos - thank you!

Anne padded softly out of Ann’s room, closing the door gently behind her. She stepped back into her pants in the hallway; the last thing she wanted was to meet James in the hallway in her underwear. Poor Ann had drifted to sleep as Anne rubbed her back, and she didn’t have the heart to wake her. Anne slipped back into her own room, settling in front of her computer. She’d written some this morning, after her walk and before waking Ann, but she’d had a new idea for a section that had been eluding her. 

However, by the time she brought up her document, the inspiration was gone. Her mind still on Ann, she replayed the morning’s events. Ann’s slim, white body descending into the steaming water, the feeling of her fingers on Anne’s neck as she read, the bony notches of Ann’s spine under her hands. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself so thoroughly, and with no orgasm in sight. 

Well…

Anne glanced back at the bed, considered lying down briefly, just for a moment, just to – 

No, she thought, better not. Some things are better without that; some things don’t need that tawdriness to be good. Ann Walker was one of those things. Not that she wouldn’t like to shag her six ways from Sunday. But there was a depth to the feeling there that Anne didn’t want to tarnish. Best to leave the morning unblemished, chaste. Well, PG-13 at most.

Anne wrote, haltingly, for a few hours. She found her mind straying back to Ann, wondering if she was awake, if she was in pain, what the future held for them. Would Ann be interested in marriage? Would Ann want to marry her? Was Ann even out to her family? She was getting ahead of herself, she knew, but she couldn’t ignore the magnetic pull she felt toward Ann. Anne felt certain they were meant to be together; she hadn’t felt so sure of anything in a long time. She’d tried shoe-horning a lot of women into her life, but none had fit so well as Ann. 

She pulled out her phone impulsively, texted Eugenie. “Yes, you may have next week off,” she responded to Eugenie’s request from yesterday, “but today I need you to go to Barber & Cattle in York. They have there a French onyx cabochon and rose cut diamond ring. Use my American Express for this as well as your travel expenses.”

She locked her phone and slid lower in her chair, studying the ceiling. At least now she would have the ring. She’d seen it online a few weeks ago, admired it, but concluded sadly she wouldn’t have need of it. Now she felt almost desperate to have it, fearful someone had beat her to it and snatched up the perfect ring. She wouldn’t call it an engagement ring, not yet. It was too soon for that. Perhaps some sort of commitment ring, a promise ring – wait, no, Anne frowned. That’s something else.

Anne made her way downstairs, curious about the state of that cook, the potential virus case. She fancied herself something of a self-taught doctor, having read extensively on the human body and interned with Dr. Couvier during her stint in France. She should like to examine this woman, assess her symptoms, track the course of the virus, if that’s what it really was. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, she heard Ann’s lilting laugh from the living room. She opened the door cautiously, pushing away flashbacks of that fateful morning with Vere and Donald. 

“Anne!” Ann’s voice lit up when she saw her. Ann was sitting on the floor, her back against the base of the sofa, her laptop on the coffee table in front of her. “I’m Skyping Harriet, come say hi.” Ann beckoned her over. 

Anne sunk to the floor next to Ann, resting her arm across the sofa behind Ann’s shoulders, leaning in to see the screen better. Harriet was blonde, about Ann’s age, wearing a pink boatneck top with a white cardigan over her shoulders. She squinted back at Anne, but Anne was used to the less-than-kind interest that usually accompanied her masculine-of-center appearance and mannerisms. She grinned widely at the screen. 

“Hello, Harriet,” Anne said, “how are you holding up with all of this?” 

Harriet recovered and began to prattle on about her family’s precautions, her having to miss brunch this morning, her boredom in her house. Anne tried to pay attention, she really did, but Ann had started tracing light circles over her knee. Harriet wouldn't be able to see Ann's movements, and Ann made no acknowledgement of the low fire she was stoking. It wasn’t Anne’s fault she didn’t hear Harriet’s question the first time. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you, will you say it again?” Anne implored, tensing her thigh in what she hoped was a signal to Ann to lay off. Ann squeezed her knee in return, then continued with her circles. 

“I said I’d read your article on science and the divine in uni,” Harriet said, her voice impossibly louder, “I’m not sure I entirely agreed with it.”

“Well, the first thing to understand,” Anne shifted into professor mode, “is we must set aside the Biblical interpretation of life to study the scientific side.”

“Does that not make you worry that you are a heretic?” Harriet pressed.

“No, it’s, uh, it’s curious,” Anne was having trouble focusing on the topic, Ann’s hand still wandering her leg. “I myself am profoundly religious. The more we understand about the complexities and sophistication of our bodies and our world, the more in awe of our creator we become. Surely.” 

Harriet nodded, but Anne could see she hadn’t won her over. Better to make a quick exit. 

“But!” Anne exhaled, “I was going to check on Mrs. Barclay, see how she’s feeling. Thank you for letting me crash into your conversation. Nice meeting you, Harriet.” Harriet smiled tightly. “Bye, darling.” Anne pressed a kiss to Ann’s cheek before standing and leaving the room. 

After a series of wrong turns and identical hallways, Anne found Mrs. Barclay’s quarters. She knocked, then let herself in. The apartment was small but cozy; Ann had told her the staff usually only stayed at the house during bad weather or for events. Poor woman, Anne thought, sick and stuck at work. Mrs. Barclay herself was propped up in bed, her miserable face visible from the door. 

“Mrs. Barclay?” Anne called as she stepped gingerly into the room, “I’m Dr. Lister. I’m a friend of Ann’s. I’m staying here for a few days, and I heard you were sick. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Mrs. Barclay coughed and shook her head. Anne leaned over her, pressing her hand to the woman’s forehead, her wrists, her clavicle. Her heartrate was elevated; her wrists and head were warm. She almost certainly had a fever and a cough; she looked fatigued. Anne knew these were symptoms of COVID-19, but they were also symptoms of the flu. 

“Are you short of breath, Mrs. Barclay?” Again, the woman shook her head. Anne began to wonder if she would speak to her at all. 

The door creaked open. James and a young woman Anne didn’t recognize stood in the door, clearly surprised at the sight of Anne Lister at bedside. 

“Ah, James,” Anne straightened. “I was inquiring after Mrs. Barclay’s health. Does she have everything she needs?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, meeting Anne at the center of the main room. “Laura’s – Mrs. Barclay’s daughter came yesterday to help care for her.” He gestured to the young woman hovering in the doorway. 

“Good, good” Anne nodded, “let me know if there’s anything – absolutely anything – that you all need.”

She left the room, careful not to touch anything until she reached the kitchen again. She scrubbed her hands thoroughly, then wiped down the faucet she’d touched. Anne checked her watch: 5:49. Not too early to start dinner. 

Forty minutes later, she closed the oven and set a 12-minute timer, rather pleased with her shepherd’s pie. Anne was bent over the dishwasher, attempting to make sense of the buttons and settings and switches, when she heard footsteps. She spun around to find Ann, looking small and frail, in the doorway. 

“Hi,” Anne breathed, closing the distance between them in a few, long strides to gather Ann in her arms. “How was Harriet?” 

Ann pulled away from her gently, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. 

“She’s fine,” Ann said; “what are you making?”

“Shepherd’s pie,” Anne said proudly. “My mother’s recipe. With a few changes. Notably, not dousing the chef in a quart of gin beforehand.” 

Ann laughed halfheartedly, but Anne chalked it up to the uncomfortable topic. Ann wasn’t used to her dark humor, to joking about a dead, alcoholic parent. The timer dinged, and Anne served their plates. She carried both to the dining room, settling Ann at the head of the table, seating herself to Ann’s left. Anne prattled on about her morning, her writing, Mrs. Barclay. Ann barely spoke, barely ate. Anne felt her nerves fray; what had changed in the few hours since Ann was drawing saucy lines on her knee?

“Well, that said,” Anne continued, “I think Mrs. Barclay is likely to have the flu, and not this virus. Either way, she looks set to recover nicely. That’s a relief.”

Ann nodded. Silence stretched between them. Anne turned her attention back to her food. 

“Do you think what we’re doing is wrong?” Ann said suddenly, her eyes locking onto Anne’s desperately. 

“Excuse me?” Anne set down her fork slowly. 

“Harriet was telling me – well, she was saying, um, that what we do together is a sin. That it’s in the Bible, pretty explicitly.”

“How does Harriet know ‘what we do together?’” Anne asked pointedly.

“I told her,” Ann said, impatience rising in her voice, “obviously. Not that I needed to, with the way you put your arm around my shoulders, or the way you kissed me when you left. She could connect the dots.”

“What’s been said?” Anne stood, pacing, hands on her hips. 

“I guess she got a call from Mrs. Priestly,” Ann said quietly, though annoyance still lingered in her tone. Anne chuckled darkly. Of course. Eliza had always been vindictive, judgmental, jealous even. “The whole neighborhood is sure to know,” Ann continued. “All my friends and neighbors making lewd comments about us.”

“If they’re making lewd comments about us, they are not your friends,” Anne snapped. The injured look on Ann’s face made her sigh, sit back down. She began again, slowly, “the Old Testament is pretty explicit. About men. It doesn’t mention women – what we do together – at all.” 

“It’s the same thing,” Ann insisted. 

“No,” Anne said forcefully, “it isn’t. And anyway, if it were a sin – which, by the way, the Church of England says it is not – if it were to be deemed a sin, I would have to put my feet in the fire.” Ann turned her head at the thought, but Anne continued. “I love and only love the fairer sex. My heart revolts from any other love than theirs, and these feelings –” Anne had to pause to collect her thoughts. She had been out for a long time. She had given speeches and written papers and marched in pride for her identity, but she’d never tried to defend it, to explain the depth of her feeling, to explain the innateness of it, to a woman she loved. She’d tried, once, with Mariana, but Mary had rolled her eyes and gotten out of bed. Anne inhaled, then tried again, “these feelings have not wavered or deviated since childhood. I was born like this. I act as my God-given nature dictates. Now, if I were to be with a man, surely that would be unnatural, surely that would be against God. Who made us. Every one of us. In all our richness and variety. And you’re the same. You told me so.”

Anne reached for Ann’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Ann hung her shaking head. 

“Don’t let them poison you against me,” Anne whispered, “against us. We can be happy. We have been happy. You know that. We could have a rich life together.”

“What if,” Ann swallowed, “what if we said we were just friends, for appearance’s sake? We could still – be together, but then – then nobody would know.”

“That would never work for me,” Anne shot back from the table, her voice rising in anger, but cracking at the hurt. She wouldn’t sneak around again; doing that with Mariana had nearly broken her. “Why should we compromise ourselves? To pretend that what we have is something less than what it is? I want you to be my wi-” Anne stopped herself, tilting her head back to the ceiling, begging the tears to roll back. She looked back at Ann, so fragile and scared. Anne determined to say it, put all her cards on the table. She came to kneel next to Ann’s chair, “I want you to be my wife. And everything that that means. To love, to cherish, to have and to hold. According to God’s holy ordinance. I know that it's soon; I know that. But when I look at you, when I hold you, when I kiss you - that's what I think. I want that; I want all of it.”

Ann considered this, running the backs of her fingers across Anne’s cheek, then cupping her face. Anne smiled into the sensation, silently begging Ann to find her courage. 

“Anne,” she sighed, “I adore you. When I’m with you, nothing else matters and the world makes sense. But I’m – I can’t face the world like you can. I’m afraid when all this is over, I’ll be too cowardly to –”

“Miss Walker,” Anne said sternly as she stood, “you can’t face the world? Are you kidding? You face the world every day. You faced the world when your parents died, back-to-back, when you were a teenager. You went off to uni, and instead of being miserable, you were brave enough to say that it wasn’t working for you and came home. I have seen a lot of students suffer in silence, make themselves depressed and even suicidal, before they seek help. You manage this entire estate, by yourself, with no help from your older sister. You live with chronic back pain, but you don’t feel sorry for yourself. Hell, you deal with Eliza Priestly on a weekly basis. Ann Walker, not only are you incredibly brave, you’re kind of my hero.”

Ann was smiling that bright, full smile Anne loved so much. Had she done it? Had she silenced Ann’s fears? Ann stood slowly, took Anne’s hands, and kissed her. Not the frantic, desperate kisses of last night, and not the chaste pecks of this morning. This was something different – slow, methodical, deep. Anne walked Ann backward until they reached the closed door; she pressed Ann into it, reveling in the feel of Ann’s body against hers, Ann’s hands on her back, Ann’s lips on her own. Anne brought her hands to Ann’s face as she pulled away. She raised her eyebrows, silently asking. 

“Let’s watch a movie,” Ann whispered, “and then,” she kissed Anne again, “maybe later,” she pulled Anne’s hips flush against her own, “we can go upstairs.”

Anne grinned as they gathered their dishes and took them back to the kitchen. Eugenie texted her: “I’ve bought it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely happy with this one, but it sets up the next one. And the next one? Filthy. Good Lord.


	10. Thursday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, YOU spent your entire Sunday writing seven pages of filth about two Regency-era lesbians. I definitely did not do that. 
> 
> I'm off to take a cold shower and reapply my chastity belt.

“What are we watching?” Anne whispered in her ear, sliding behind her and wrapping her arms around Ann’s waist. They were surveying Ann’s rather large DVD collection, which was hidden in the closet of the upstairs bedroom Ann had converted into her TV room. Ann could feel herself meting into Anne’s embrace already, but it was barely 8 o’clock. It seemed too early to race to bed. 

“Comedy or drama?” Ann asked over her shoulder.

“Comedy,” Anne nipped at her ear. 

“’80s, ‘90s, 2000s?”

“2000s,” Anne sucked lightly on her neck, slipped her hand under Ann’s shirt. 

“Female lead or male?”

“Oh, female, of course,” Anne husked, fingertips grazing the line of Ann’s bra. 

“She’s The Man,” Ann said triumphantly, pulling away from Anne to pull the movie from the shelf. Anne swallowed audibly and ran her fingers through her hair. 

“What?” Anne asked, her voice still breathy and rough. 

“That’s the movie we’re watching. Do you like Twelfth Night?” Anne nodded, brow still furrowed. “It’s based on that. It’s really funny; it has Amanda Bynes, Channing Tatum, Julie Hagerty, David Cross. You’ll like it.” 

She fiddled with the DVD player and television for a few moments before turning back to Anne on the plush couch. She was leaning against the arm of the couch, her left leg bent and resting against the back, the other dangling over the edge, foot flat on the floor. Ann ran her eyes down her lithe body, her rumpled shirt, her impossibly tight pants, her sock-clad feet. She felt foolish for doubting herself at dinner, for letting Harriet’s nastiness get in her head. Anne tilted her head slightly, raising her eyebrows; Ann smiled as she sat between Anne’s legs, leaning back against her warm upper body. 

“How’s your back?” Anne asked softly. 

“Oh, much better,” Ann said as the movie started. Anne hummed in response and brought her arms to wrap around Ann’s middle. Ann snuggled into Anne’s chest, enjoying the rise and fall of her breathing, punctuated by her sharp laughter. She fancied she could feel Anne’s heartbeat, steady and even, matching the pace of her own. Anne didn’t speak much throughout the movie, and by the time the credits rolled, Ann assumed she’d fallen asleep. 

That is, until she felt Anne’s sure fingers slide down her abdomen to her waistband. Anne’s left hand moved under her shirt, into her bra, circling her nipple slowly; her right unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans with a dexterity that made Ann’s mouth run dry. Anne teased her through her underwear for a few long moments, Ann growing more and more slick with each pass of her fingertips. 

“Anne,” she breathed, bringing her hand to cover Anne’s on her breast. She could practically hear Anne’s wolfish grin spread across her face. Anne slipped inside her panties, finally, bringing her well-practiced fingers to Ann’s aching center. Ann let out an open-mouthed moan, closing her eyes. Anne’s hips started a gentle rhythm against Ann; Ann started bucking her hips higher, a silent cry for Anne’s hand to slip lower. 

Finally, blessedly, she did. They moaned simultaneously at the contact. Anne brought her thumb to Ann’s clit, curling her fingers with every thrust. Ann arched her back, rutting her hips against Anne’s hand urgently, desperate to take Anne deeper. 

“You are so beautiful,” Anne nipped at her ear; “you take me so well.” Ann whimpered, nodded furiously. She felt her stomach muscles tensing, her hips moving more and more urgently.

“Yes, Anne, yes, yes, Anne!” Ann’s voice was high-pitched, breathy; she almost didn’t recognize it. Her hands clenched – one tightening around Anne’s hand on her breast, the other gripped at Anne’s thigh below her. Their hips bucked into the air once, twice more, before Ann came undone. The pleasure crashed over her, threatening to drown her in heat and wetness and Anne Anne Anne. 

At last, Anne removed her hand, wiping it surreptitiously on her pants leg. Ann was still gasping, catching her breath. After a few moments she sat up, turned to face Anne, wrapped her hands in Anne’s shirt and pulled her into a bruising kiss. Anne rested her hands lightly on Ann’s hips, allowing Ann to lead the kiss. When she pulled back, Ann laughed at Anne’s self-satisfied expression. She stood, rebuttoning her jeans and shaking her head.

“That was a very good movie,” Anne said as she stood, her voice dripping with false sincerity. 

“You don’t need to look so damn well pleased with yourself,” Ann was still laughing. 

“13 minutes, Miss Walker, that’s a new record.”

“What?”

“13 minutes from the moment the movie ended until you were screaming my name,” Anne said devilishly. “It’s a new record for us.”

“You!” Ann sputtered, shocked and delighted at Anne’s dirty timekeeping. “You are a brute.” She smacked Anne lightly on the arm.

“Am I?” Anne lifted Ann into her arms. Ann, giggling, wrapped her legs around Anne’s waist. 

“I really did enjoy the movie, Ann, please don’t misunderstand,” Anne said. Ann nodded, too busy enjoying Anne’s muscular arms around her. God, she loved this feeling. She wrapped one arm around Anne’s neck, the other squeezing Anne’s bicep. 

“How are you so strong?” Ann marveled.

“Well I do a lot of weight-lifting,” Anne was carrying her out of the room, “and I work in the gardens at Shibden. All so that I can carry pretty girls to bed.”

Ann laughed again, burying her face in Anne’s neck. Her scent was strong here, a mix of old books and freshly cut grass with a hint of sweat. Ann kissed at the spot where neck met shoulder, then bit lightly. Anne groaned above her; Ann could feel the rumble in her throat. Ann started sucking lightly at Ann’s neck, her shoulder, behind her ear.

“Ann,” she warned, “I can’t carry you halfway across the house if you keep this up. I won’t be able to wait.” Ann clicked her tongue noncommittally, returning her lips to her new favorite spot along Anne’s jawline. She felt Anne’s grip on her ass tighten, but she was enjoying teasing Anne too much to stop. Suddenly, her back was pressed roughly into the wall, Anne’s lips capturing hers. The kiss was fierce, all tongue and teeth and tension. 

“Anne,” she moaned weakly, tilting her head back as Anne placed rough kisses on her neck, her sternum, between her breasts. Anne lowered her legs to the ground, then knelt in front of her. Ann felt almost dizzy with desire; she thought she might pass out from want when Anne looked up at her as she undid her pants for the second time that night. Anne placed soft kisses to her stomach, her hips, as she slid Anne’s jeans and panties to the floor and helped her step out of them. The rough urgency of a moment ago was gone; Anne was all smooth tenderness now. She looked up at Ann once more, her eyes a silent question. 

“Please,” Ann whispered, and Anne’s grin consumed her face. She buried her face between Ann’s trembling thighs, devouring her. Ann wrapped her hand in Anne’s wild hair, pulling the older woman more firmly into her aching core. Anne brought her hands to Ann’s hips, pressing her firmly against the wall; Ann’s hips now effectively stilled, she brought a hand under Ann’s knee, lifting it over her shoulder. Ann whimpered at the sensation of being so open to Anne’s demanding tongue, to her grazing teeth. 

She felt that familiar swooping in her gut, the contractions in her core, and she brought her free hand up to toy with her breast over her shirt. She felt her body seize, a high-pitched moan escaping her lips. Anne was still moving against her, her tireless tongue eliciting shudder after shudder from her until Ann finally covered Anne’s hand on her hip with her own. 

Anne looked up at her with a grin; her face shone with Ann’s arousal, and her hair fell in wild waves from Ann’s desperate hands. Anne stood slowly, dipping her head to kiss Ann softly. Ann tasted herself on Anne’s lips, hummed softly at the sensation. She pulled away from Anne slowly, bending to gather her panties and jeans from the floor. 

“Good Lord,” Ann breathed, leading Anne toward her bedroom, “the hallway, Anne? What if James had walked by?”

“I am powerless to resist you,” Anne raised her arms in surrender as they reached the door. 

Ann chuckled as she opened the door. Anne pawed at her once more, pressing her against the back of the closed door and kissing her soundly. 

“Anne, please,” Ann implored, “I have to recover.”

Anne nodded and started to unbutton her shirt as Ann went into the bathroom. She deposited her ruined panties and jeans in the hamper, followed by her shirt and bra. She peed quickly, then assessed herself in the mirror as she washed her hands. Her hair was mussed, sticking up at the back. Her face was still flushed, faint red marks lingering on her neck and collarbone from Anne’s more forceful attentions. She scarcely would’ve recognized her reflection if they’d met on the street, but she felt more alive, more herself than she had in ages. She ran a hand through her hair in an attempt to tame the worst of the tangles; she slipped on one of her oversized sleeping shirts before returning to the bedroom.

Anne was under the covers, only her head and white-t-shirt-clad shoulders visible above the sheets. Her eyes were closed – was she asleep? But then Ann noticed movement under the duvet, a slow, rhythmic movement right about where Anne’s stomach would be. 

“Anne?” she ventured, still trying to make sense of the picture before her. Anne’s eyes shot open, the movement stopped, both hands appeared over the covers. 

“Darling,” Anne said – was she out of breath? Ann felt close to a discovery; she almost understood – the pieces were coming together – it was all making sense – Anne had been – 

“Were you wanking?” 

“Uh,” she swallowed and sat up fully, “no.” Anne had the serious expression of a toddler caught pilfering sweets. 

“You were!” Ann was intrigued as she came to kneel on the bed. 

“I – look,” Anne protested, then sighed. “I was,” she whispered. Ann felt her eyes widen; this was very exciting. Somehow catching Anne touching herself seemed even more naughty than what they’d done in the hallway. Anne continued seriously, “but I know you’re tired, and your back is hurt. Let’s just –”

“Could I watch?” 

“What?”

“Could I watch you…” Ann said lowly, crawling further onto the bed, sitting cross-legged at Anne’s feet, “finish what you started?”

Anne swallowed, then exhaled raggedly, a nervous laugh escaping her lips as she looked up at the ceiling. 

“Are you sure?” Anne asked quietly. Ann nodded, peeling back the covers. Anne’s arousal was evident on her boxers, which clung to her center. Ann crawled up Anne’s long legs, hooking her hands in Anne’s waistband. She raised her eyebrows. 

“May I? You can say no. I won’t be upset. We can just go to bed.” 

“No!” Anne’s voice was desperate, “I – it’s f – I want to – please.”

Ann slid the boxers down Anne’s toned legs, discarding them over the side of the bed. Anne sank lower into the pillows, bending her knees and spreading her legs wider. Ann licked her lips subconsciously; she thought back to the night on the kitchen island. She had been so desperate to get Anne off, to do it right, not to screw it up, that she hadn’t taken the time to properly appreciate her. Now, she sat back on her heels, taking in the sight of Anne Lister spread bare before her. 

Anne’s right hand slid between her legs, gathering the wetness dripping from her core. She started with slow circles around her clit. She held eye contact with Ann. Her tongue poked out from between her lips. After a few moments, the circles grew tighter, and Anne’s hips lifted from the mattress a fraction of an inch. Ann was paralyzed with desire as she watched Anne’s hand travel between her center and her clit. She made a mental note that Anne never went inside herself, focused almost exclusively on her clit. Anne switched from circles to frantic strumming, her eyes closed tight, her hips bucking in the air. Ann saw her lips moving. 

“What are you thinking about?” Ann’s voice was low.

“You,” Anne panted, her fingers speeding up, “you on the couch. Your hand on my thigh. The – oh – the way you feel when you come – fuck – how you tasted in the hallway, how your hands felt in my – fuck – hair, when you – oh – when you came – how you would look bent over, how I would take you in – fuck, I’m coming, I’m so close,” Anne’s hips were thrusting frantically now. “Ann,” she whimpered, “Ann, Ann, Ann.”

Anne’s neck arched back into the pillow, her hips frozen in midair, her hand still moving between her legs. Gradually, she slowed and lowered her hips back to the mattress. She panted for a few moments before opening her eyes. Ann couldn’t think of anything to say, so she crawled up Anne’s body, still damp with perspiration. Anne sat up and kissed her hard. 

“That was so hot,” Ann whispered when they parted. She sat back on Anne’s thighs, feeling her own arousal growing. “Have you ever done that before?”

“Had a wank?” Anne trailed her warm hands up Ann’s stomach, kneading her breasts lightly. “Never,” she grinned. 

“You’re a liar, Dr. Lister,” Ann teased, arching her back into Anne’s touch. She relaxed into the sensation, feeling desire build slowly from Anne’s gentle ministrations. She slowly bunched up Ann’s shirt, bringing it over her head and dropping it to the floor next to her boxers. Ann brought her hands to Anne’s brilliant, handsome face and kissed her. Anne’s strong hands kneaded her pale thighs. 

“Do you know what I picturing when I came?” Anne’s voice was low. Ann shook her head as she started a slow rocking rhythm over Anne’s lap. “I was picturing you bent over my desk at Shibden.” Ann nodded; the very idea sent a surge of wetness between her legs. “And I was thinking what a shame it is I didn’t pack my strap for this quarantine.” Ann continued rocking as she considered. What would Anne be like with – one of those? She closed her eyes and imagined Anne bending her over, her firm hand on Ann’s back, her – oh God – her cock between her legs. 

As if reading her thoughts, Anne teased her entrance with her fingertips, one hand still firm on Ann’s hip. She thrust into Ann softly, mirroring the gentle rhythm of Ann’s hips. Ann increased her speed, and Anne slipped a second finger in with the first. Ann moaned at the intrusion. 

“You called me Pony this morning,” Anne whispered fiendishly. Ann nodded, eyes still closed. “I wondered if that was because you want to ride me.” 

Ann’s eyes shot open. Anne grinned back at her. Ann’s hips took off, bucking against Anne’s hand feverishly. Soon Ann was moaning at the stretch of three fingers in her center, Anne’s thumb slipping hard over her clit. She brought her hands to Anne’s shoulders to steady herself. 

“It seems young Miss Walker likes dirty talk,” Ann was overwhelmed by the older woman all around her – in her ear, on her hip, between her legs. “You look so good, riding me, fucking yourself on my hand.” Ann whimpered, nodding. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, about fucking you, about making you come. Imagining how you would feel in my hands, in my mouth, on my cock.” Ann moaned, feeling herself grow impossibly wetter. “And I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. You’re mine,” Anne growled as she thrust into Ann savagely, her other hand digging into Ann’s hip. Ann hurtled off the edge, her hips rutting frantically against Anne’s hand, her wetness coating Anne’s lap, her fingernails carving half-moons into Ann’s shoulders. Finally, Ann slumped against Anne’s chest, her breath coming in gasps. Anne ran her hand lightly up and down Ann’s back. 

“Jesus,” Ann breathed. She looked up at Anne, who smiled back at her so tenderly it nearly stopped Ann’s racing heart. She was bowled over, once again, by the multitudes within this woman. One moment she was whispering the dirtiest things Ann had ever heard, the next she was cradling her as gently as a newborn. She didn’t know how to put her thoughts to words, so she looked up at Anne and tilted her chin. Anne dipped her head and met Ann’s lips with her own. 

“I love fucking you,” Anne said when they parted, “but I’d like to make love to you. And then we’ll go to sleep.” 

Ann felt a wave of nervousness wash over her. They’d had sex - rather a lot by now. Anne had already seen her at her most vulnerable time and time again. But the stakes now felt higher – would Ann be good enough? What if she messed it up? She’d only gotten Anne off once, what if she couldn’t do it again? Anne would realize she was no good anyway, and then she’d – 

“Hey,” Anne whispered, catching Ann’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not – wha – what if I’m not very good at it?” 

Anne’s eyes widened for a moment. Then she burst out laughing.

“Ann! Ann, are you kidding?”

Ann shrugged. 

“We have – Good Lord, Ann we have shagged a dozen times in about 3 days. Did you not just – did you forget a moment ago when just the thought of you made me come? Ann,” Anne’s bright eyes searched Ann’s face; “you are very good at it.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” Ann’s voice was small, she picked at the hem of the t-shirt Anne was somehow still wearing. 

“You can’t,” Anne kissed her; “you won’t.” 

Ann nodded as she raised her eyes to meet Anne’s. Anne quirked her eyebrows once before flipping Ann onto her back in a single, smooth motion. Ann giggled as she sank back into the pillows and brought her hands to Anne’s strong neck. 

Anne dipped her head and kissed her – slowly, deeply. For a few long minutes they just kissed. Anne hovered over her, then, slowly, she started grinding against Ann’s hips. Ann tried to match her pace, but she couldn’t focus. Anne’s tongue in her mouth and her teeth nipping at Ann’s lip were too distracting. Anne shifted to balance on one arm, while her right hand moved down Ann’s leg to bend her knee. 

Anne pushed Ann’s left leg back against her chest, hooking her knee over her shoulder. Ann moaned at the rush of cool air on her exposed center. 

“Is that alright?” Anne whispered, “tell me if it’s uncomfortable.”

It wasn’t uncomfortable, and Ann nodded up at the older woman. Anne brought her own left leg over Ann’s hips, and suddenly Ann understood what she meant to do. After a few moments of clumsy maneuvering and breathless laughter, Ann felt Anne’s center on her own. Both women moaned. 

“Oh my God,” Ann sighed, her stomach already tightening at the sensation of Anne’s arousal slipping around her own. Anne started a slow grinding rhythm against Ann. She kissed at her jaw, her neck, her breasts. She whispered praise into Ann’s ear, how beautiful she was, how well she was doing, how good she felt. It was lovely, really, but it wasn’t enough. 

Ann snaked her hand between their bodies to rub her aching clit. She sighed at the pressure, closing her eyes and marveling at the wetness between the two of them. Anne brought her hand down to cover Ann’s, never slowing the roll of her hips. Ann tried to reciprocate, she really did, but she couldn’t focus. Anne’s clit kept slipping away from her, or she was distracted by Anne’s soft lips and warm fingertips. She groaned in frustration. 

“It’s okay,” Anne whispered, “just lie back.”

So she did. Ann laid back, focusing on the sensation of Anne’s core grinding against hers, Anne’s knowing fingertips, Anne’s teeth biting her own bottom lip in concentration. Anne’s movements were slow, methodical, gentle. Before she realized what was happening, Ann’s body stretched taut – her eyes sliding shut, her breath leaving her body, her arms grasping at Anne’s shoulders. Anne stroked her down gently, placing soft kisses on her cheeks, nose, lips. 

Ann opened her eyes to watch Anne above her, still grinding slowly. This time she wouldn’t be distracted, she resolved. Ann snaked her hand between their bodies once again, finding Anne’s clit with a familiarity that made her heart soar. She started with circles, ramping up the speed and pressure slowly, trying to mimic what she’d watched Anne do earlier. Anne moaned lowly, her breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps until – she seized, once, twice, once more. Ann kissed her neck as she recovered. 

Anne rolled onto her back, her chest still heaving. Ann kissed her once more, softly, before she stood up to go to her dresser. She pulled out a fresh shirt to sleep in, then rooted around for a pair of faded sweatpants. She pulled the shirt over her head before tossing the sweats to Anne. Anne looked at her quizzically. 

“I don’t think you’d better put those damp boxers back on,” Ann teased. “And I can’t be trusted if you’re going to sleep bottomless.”

Anne laughed, raising her hips to pull on the sweatpants in bed. Ann slid back into bed, pulling the sheets back over them both. She kissed Anne slowly and softly before nuzzling into her arms. 

“I love you,” she whispered as her eyes drifted closed. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Anne’s low voice repeat her words back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos - it really does mean the world to me.   
> The only thing that makes me hotter than Anne Lister and Ann Walker is YOUR feedback.  
> No? Bad joke? Stick to the smut? I'll see myself out.


	11. Friday Morning

Anne’s brisk morning walk always helped her visualize her day. She used the time to prioritize tasks, calculate the time needed to complete each one, then order her day around them. The Walker estate was quite lovely, and she appreciated the change of scenery. She noticed weeds and a few misshapen hedges – best to put that on the list for today. The gardeners weren’t coming around, so Anne could take care of it until this all blew over. She needed to write – get a few more pages to her editor before the end of the week. Anne shifted that to the afternoon in her mental calendar. Breakfast with Ann, gardening, then a shower, some writing, afternoon with Ann, dinner with Ann, evening with Ann. Ann, Ann, Ann. 

Her mind drifted back to the previous night as she made her way back to the house. Good Lord, her core was clenching even now. Had she known another woman who was so beautiful and sweet and honest and wanton? Unlikely, Anne thought. And the best part was how much she adored Anne. Anne was always the pursuer in relationships, a role she liked just fine, but she rarely, if ever, had been met with reciprocal affection and interest like Ann’s. She said a silent prayer of gratitude for their being quarantined. Then a prayer begging for forgiveness for prioritizing her personal life over this global health crisis.

Anne bounded up the stairs to her room. She dug through her suitcase, at last finding her gardening gloves. Eugenie really was rather good at her job. Anne made a mental note to be kinder to her when this was all over. She traded out her sneakers for work boots and tiptoed down the hall to Ann’s room. 

Ann was still asleep, her arm flung out across Anne’s side of the bed, her golden hair spread across her pillow. Anne spent a long moment just watching her breathe, tracing the gentle rise and fall of her chest under the sheets. She sat down on the edge of the bed and brought her hand to Ann’s face. Ann’s eyes opened slowly; she rolled onto her back to look up at Anne like she’d created the day just for them. When the great masters had painted angels, surely they never captured beauty like Ann Walker’s.

“Good morning,” she whispered, smiling softly at the sleepy expression on Ann’s face. “I’m going out to the garden. Pull a few weeds, clip a few limbs.”

“But you’ll come back?”

“Of course,” Anne chuckled; “I’ll be right outside.” 

Ann hummed softly and rolled back into her pillow. 

Anne grabbed a granola bar from the pantry before heading outside. She found a rake, clippers, a wheelbarrow, some leaf bags. She set to work around the flower beds first, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun on her neck, the soft dirt under her knees. She pulled weeds and trimmed dead heads. She wasn’t really sure what they’d do with the discards, so she just put them in a leaf bag. Would trash collection still be coming around? Could they compost? How did composting even work? She made a mental note to look it up. Then she worked her way through the hedges, clipping errant limbs and shaping the hedges to her liking. Perhaps she would speak to Ann’s gardeners about the way they kept the place, when this was all over. She raked a pile of leaves. She smoothed the gravel paths. She found herself at the edge of Ann’s garden, exhausted. 

She checked her watch 10:27. Hmmm. She considered the wheelbarrow – it would fit her torso and thighs. Her calves might hang off the edge, but – oh, what the hell. She clambered into the wheelbarrow, tugged her baseball cap low on her head, and closed her eyes. 

Her first sensation was a cool hand on her bare calf. She smiled, keeping her eyes closed, enjoying the feeling. The hand travelled up her leg, along her inner thigh. Anne shifted her hips sleepily. What a nice dream, she thought. The hand danced over her center, then under her shirt. Anne hummed lightly. Then she felt lips on hers, the hand gripping tightly at her waist. She opened her eyes – Ann. 

“I thought I was dreaming, but – turns out this is better.”

“Why are you asleep in a wheelbarrow, Anne?” Ann teased, still tracing her fingers along Anne’s stomach, “We have a perfectly good house back there. Perfectly good beds. As you well know.”

“Mmmm, I do, I do know that.” Anne heaved herself to standing and wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist. “I’m just feeling rather worn out – I wonder whose fault that is?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“No?”

Ann shook her head, that impish smile on her face. Anne leaned down to capture it with her lips. Standing in the sun, in the late morning, with Ann in her arms, Anne mused, this is what the poets meant when they talked about love. And she did love Ann, she realized, as they walked back to the house. Not because she was beautiful and rich and sexy; she was, of course, all of those things. But she was also thoughtful and funny and exciting in a way that surprised Anne. She hadn’t imagined she would enjoy laying on a couch watching an Amanda Bynes movie; in fact, she’d almost purposefully avoided teen comedies for most of her life, thinking them lowbrow and predictable. And yet, snuggled up on the couch last night, Anne couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be. And the movie was funny! Ann was opening her eyes to so many things she had dismissed, either from her own snobbery (like the movie) or from her own fear (like letting another person in). 

Anne deposited her tools in the gardening shed, then followed Ann up the back stairs. Ann really had a nice little deck out here. Perhaps they should bring their dinner out here tonight.

“Right, what should we do now?” Anne pulled Ann to her and placed a kiss at her jawline. 

“You, madam, are going to go take a shower,” Ann stepped away from her gingerly. Anne clicked her tongue. 

“Am I?”

“Oh yeah. And I’m going to put our sheets in the dryer. And then when you’re all clean, you can help me make up the bed.”

Anne hummed, considering this plan. 

“How about this? You come upstairs with me. Then, later, I take a shower. Then I’ll help you make up the bed.”

“And why would I come upstairs with a pig like you?” Ann teased, even as she stepped closer to Anne and placed her small hand on Anne’s sternum.

“Because, Miss Walker,” Anne wrapped her hand around Ann’s on her chest, “you want me, just as much as I want you.”

“Is that –” Before Ann could finish her sentence, Anne had bent double and thrown Ann over her shoulder. Peals of Ann’s bright laughter surrounded them as Anne straightened and marched them inside, past a slack-jawed James. 

“Morning, James,” Anne said evenly. 

“Ma’am? Is everything alright?” he called as Anne mounted the stairs. 

“Yes, thank you, James,” Ann managed between laughs. 

Anne nudged open the door to her room; Ann beat her fists lightly on Anne’s back. 

“What am I to do with you?” Anne surveyed the room. “I mean, I guess I’ll have to put you down on this bed. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Anne, Anne,” Ann gasped for breath, “you are ridiculous.”

“Quite possibly,” Anne lowered her gently to her unmade bed.

“Incorrigible.”

“That too,” Anne was unlacing her work boots.

“Absurd.” 

“You’re right,” she knelt and slipped Ann’s trainers off her feet. 

“Out of control,” Ann said as she unbuttoned her shorts and lifted her hips to tug them off. 

“Is that so?” Anne pushed her own dirty shorts to the floor.

“Wild,” Ann shucked her shirt. 

“Can’t imagine how you put up with it,” she threw off her baseball cap. 

“Irresistible,” Ann unclasped her bra and added it to the growing pile of discarded clothes. 

“If you say so,” Anne lifted her feet one at a time to roll her socks off. 

“Perfect,” Ann pulled Anne to her by the front of her boxers.

“Don’t speak too soon,” she pushed Ann onto her back as she crawled over her. 

“Mine,” Ann tilted her chin upward. 

“Without a doubt,” Anne whispered before dipping her head to catch Ann in a languorous kiss. Their lips met slowly, almost sloppily. Anne moved her hips in a slow rhythm against Ann’s before dipping her head to take one of Ann’s breasts in her mouth. Ann moaned and arched her back at the contact. After a few long moments, Anne shifted to her other breast to give it the same treatment. Ann was practically writhing beneath her now, so Anne, in her benevolence, brought her hand to slip into Ann’s panties. She was met with a rush of wetness. She growled in Ann’s ear, shifting her legs to straddle one of Ann’s. 

She started a slow rhythm, moving her hand lightly across Ann’s center as she rolled her hips against Ann’s perfect thigh. Ann’s hands drifted to her hair, pulling Anne’s lips to her own. For a few long minutes, they moved in perfect unison in this way. Until Ann brought one hand to Anne’s hip, slipped her warm fingers under her dirty t-shirt, and dug her fingernails into Anne’s skin. 

“Don’t tease,” she husked in Anne’s ear. 

Anne didn’t need telling twice. 

Soon Ann’s hips were bucking against her hand; the slick, dirty sound of their skin meeting filled the room. Anne felt her own release gather low in her stomach as she moved her hips insistently against Ann’s leg. Ann raised her hips more and more urgently, those high, breathy moans Anne adored spilling from her mouth. 

“Yes, Anne, yes, please, Anne, yes.”

Ann was still whimpering when Anne felt herself fall over the precipice, so she buried her face in Ann’s neck as they shuddered together. Finally, they both stilled. Anne rolled onto her back, panting at the ceiling. Ann turned to her. 

“You really do have to go take a shower now.” 

Anne laughed so hard her sides hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrestled with what to include from the show now that we've hit Episode 6 territory. Honestly, I decided not to use Ann's break down, the terrible proposal, the break up, etc. mostly because I like writing the Ann(e)s happy. And they can't really be separated in this situation, so I didn't want to have some half-baked version of Ann's mental health issues being solved by a phone call to Dr. Belcombe and True Love. All that to say - for the rest of the quarantine, I'll be using snippets from the Ann(e)s' real lives (from Nature's Domain, Female Fortune, and Anne Choma's companion book) and keeping it between fluff and smut, probably no real angst. There's enough terrible stuff going on in the real world right now without injecting it here. 
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support! Every comment puts a smile on my face, helps motivate me to keep writing, makes me a better writer.


	12. Friday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to my dog for demanding breakfast in the middle of the dang night and making sure y'all get these chapters first thing in the morning.

Anne Lister was good at a great many things. She was a well-respected scholar, a popular professor, a thrice-published author. She managed her family’s estate and cared for her elderly father and aunt. She had run a marathon, travelled extensively through Europe, lobbied for political candidates. She was rather impressive in many respects. Which is why Ann Walker enjoyed finding things she was bad at. 

For example, she was currently wrestling with the duvet and duvet cover and cursing under her breath. Ann bit her lip to stifle laughter as she watched Anne huff and puff, turning the duvet this way and that, unable to get it to settle evenly in the cover. Anne’s still-wet hair fell in her face, so she threw the whole tangled mess on the floor to pull it back in a messy ponytail. Ann admired the strong tendons in her neck as Anne bent over to retrieve the duvet and cover. Ann let her eyes wander down Anne’s black t-shirt, to her tight black jeans, to her bare feet; Ann’s mouth ran dry at her toned arms, firm backside, long legs. She was broken out of her reverie, however, when Anne groaned and threw herself face-first on the half-made bed. 

“Anne?” Ann tried to suppress a smile. She rubbed Anne’s back softly. Anne mumbled something into the mattress. “I can’t hear you.”

“It’s broken,” Anne turned her head and whined. 

“Anne,” she said indulgently, “the bedspread is not broken.”

“It doesn’t work!” Anne sat up quickly, her eyes flashing frustration. 

Ann hummed and stooped to examine the mess Anne had made. She had stuffed the duvet into the cover haphazardly, and now it was all bunched up and turned around. Ann started pulling the duvet from the cover. 

“Don’t even bother,” Anne said bitterly, “it doesn’t fit. It must’ve shrunk in the wash or something.”

“Come here,” Ann was the epitome of patience. She was enjoying this. Anne groaned and slunk over to Ann’s side, peering over her shoulder. “See this?” Ann showed her the snaps on the edge of the duvet, the corresponding loops inside the cover. Anne nodded. Ann slid the snap through the loop, then snapped it closed. She looked back to Anne for her reaction: confusion. Ann pulled at the cover to reach the next corner and repeated the procedure. 

“So?” Anne asked. “It won’t fit.”

“You try,” Ann handed the duvet over. She watched as Anne found the last two corners and snapped them into place. She looked up at Ann, awaiting instruction. “Now just give it a shake, let it settle out, and you’re done.”

Anne eyed her suspiciously, as if she didn’t believe Ann. She shook the duvet once, twice. Ann picked up the other end, stretching the bedspread between them. It was perfectly flat. Anne’s jaw dropped. 

“It’s not broken,” Ann smirked as she tossed the duvet over the bed. 

“How did you -” Anne gestured to the bed, her brow still furrowed in confusion. 

“Have you never made your own bed?”

“Well, I mean, Cordingley usually …” Anne trailed off, color rising to her cheeks in embarrassment. 

“The great Anne Lister,” Ann crowed as she left the room, “can’t even put the cover on a duvet.” 

Anne raced behind her, protesting weakly. Ann could only laugh, bringing them to the living room. She could hear Anne huffing behind her as she rooted around in the cabinet for a few moments, before pulling out a faded backgammon set. 

“I have a PhD,” Anne was still ranting, “I’m a very intelligent person, I just didn’t know how that particular -”

“Wanna play?” Ann said coquettishly, waggling the board in the air. 

She watched Anne consider, then nod slowly. Ann sat on the sofa and set up the board carefully on the coffee table. Anne sat on the floor across from her, drumming her fingers on the table as she studied the board. Ann considered briefly letting Anne win just as a salve for her bruised ego. 

But then she decided against it. 

After Ann’s first victory, Anne slammed her hand in surprise on the table, grinning. 

“Damn!” she said, looking at Ann in awe, “I’m usually pretty good at this.”

“Really?” 

“Oh yeah, next hit is mine.”

Ann shrugged as they reset the board. This match she won even faster. Anne shook her head in disbelief. Ann could only smile as she reshuffled the pieces.

She’d found another thing Anne Lister wasn’t very good at. 

Ninety minutes and three hits later, she had thoroughly trounced Anne, who was now silently pouting as they packed up the board. 

“Don’t be cross,” Ann put away the board then turned to study Anne, who was fiddling with the ring on her index finger. She looked really, properly mad. It was little surprise she was something of a sore loser. 

“I’m not cross,” Anne said, her voice cross. 

“Yes, you are!” Ann laughed, moving back to stand over Anne on the floor. 

“I’m not.”

“Anne, come on. It’s okay.” Ann scratched her fingernails on Anne’s scalp, something she had noticed Anne enjoyed.

“I know.” Anne jerked her head away. “It’s totally fine.”

“Are you sure?” Ann stepped back. 

“Of course! It’s just a silly game,” Anne stood; “I’m going to work on my pages. Upstairs.” 

Ann watched Anne stalk out of the room and considered. Anne really was a rather poor loser, not used to failure probably. It was understandable, she supposed, that they would fall prey to petty annoyances, cabin fever. She hoped Anne’s work would distract her, cure her of her foul mood, and they could have a pleasant evening. 

She walked to the library, intent on some painting while the light was still good. She made substantial headway on her work-in-progress (a wren in its nest based on a photograph she’d taken a few weeks ago). She was studying the branch supporting the nest, when she heard a light knock on the open door. 

“Would you mind if I did some work down here? I’ll be very quiet,” Anne asked sincerely. Ann detected a hint of an apology in her voice. She nodded. She was a little bit excited to just … exist with Anne. It felt very couple-y, very mature, both of them working on their separate passions, side by side. At least it was for the first hour.

Because another thing Anne List was incredibly bad at was keeping her hands to herself. 

It started with Anne shifting uncomfortably in her chair across the room from Ann. Ann rolled her eyes to herself; Anne was also so antsy. After a few minutes, Anne moved to the hard-backed sofa a little closer to her. That lasted about fifteen minutes before Anne was clicking her tongue and moving around again. This time, she sank to the floor and leaned her back against the sofa, stretching her legs out in front of her. After about five minutes, she was sighing again, going upstairs to retrieve her charging cord, then plugging in her computer about six inches from Ann’s bare feet. Anne settled here, her back against the wall, facing Ann, who was trying in vain to keep her eyes on her work. 

At first Anne absent-mindedly caressed Ann’s ankle, typing one-handed, her eyes still glued to her screen. Ann bit her cheek, determined not to give in to these blatant attempts at distraction, even as she felt electricity travel from her ankle up to her core. 

After a few minutes, Anne was running her fingers along Ann’s calf, scrolling slowly with her other hand, apparently rereading what she’d written. Ann shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her arousal already growing. It had been – what, five hours since they’d rolled around in that bed upstairs? Good Lord. Ann wasn’t sure her body could take another full week of this. 

Soon enough Anne closed her laptop and sat looking up at Ann, her hand still tracing up and down her bare calf. Ann bit her lip, squinted at her painting. After a few minutes, Anne’s raspy voice broke her concentration.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Ann asked, not because she didn’t know, but because she wanted to be sure Anne knew. 

“For being a sore loser and snapping at you. That wasn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t,” Ann set down her brush and wiped her hands on a paint-stained rag.

“Let me make it up to you,” Anne whispered, running her hand up over Ann’s bent knee, along her inner thigh. 

“Close the door.”

Anne’s grin covered her face as she crossed the room, closing and locking the door. Ann closed the shutters on the big window behind her then sat back on the deep sill. Anne knelt at her feet, pressed soft kisses up her right leg, then her left. Ann felt her arousal pooling already. Anne reached for the button to her shorts, but Ann caught her hand. 

“No?” Anne asked as confusion spread across her sharp features. 

“Not yet,” Ann whispered, pulling Anne up to sit next to her and catching her lips in a fierce kiss. She bit Anne’s lip lightly before she pulled back. “Lean back.”

Anne quirked her eyebrow, but complied, leaning her back against the closed shutters. Ann kissed her again before taking Anne’s place on the floor. She looked up at Anne through her eyelashes, then carefully undid Anne’s jeans. 

“I think you should remember, Dr. Lister,” she was pulling the jeans down Anne’s legs and off, “that it’s okay to lose control every now and then.” 

Anne nodded quickly, her arousal already evident on her light grey boxer briefs. Ann licked her lips. She hadn’t seen these before. She hooked her fingers in the waistband – Anne lifted her hips. Ann tossed them behind her, settling between Anne’s spread legs. She stretched up to kiss Anne once more, deep and dirty. She could feel Anne’s heart racing already. 

Ann settled back on her heels and placed feather-light kisses to Anne’s hips, the tops of her thighs, just below her belly button. Anne slid further down the sill, her dripping core on full display. Ann moaned in appreciation before lowering her head. The sounds Anne made nearly took her breath away – sharp gasps, low groans, high-pitched exhales, full-throated moans. Ann reveled in the feeling of Anne’s strong fingers in her hair, holding Ann’s face to her center as she lapped, licked, and sucked the life from her. 

Anne’s hips were grinding slowly when she took her clit into her mouth. She heard a surprised “Ann!” from above her, accompanied by a rush of wetness and more urgent thrusts. Ann grinned against Anne’s core momentarily, before she returned to her work. There was nothing better than this, she decided, nothing as primal or intense or lovely as unravelling Anne Lister. 

Finally, Anne’s thighs clamped around her ears, her hips froze against her face, her fingers tightened in her hair. Ann slowed her movements, bringing Anne down gently until her hips relaxed and her whole body went slack. Ann placed soft kisses on Anne’s inner thighs before pulling back completely. 

Anne slid down to the floor next to her, still panting. Ann admired Anne’s heaving, red-faced form laying next to her. She bit her lip, considering her next move; Anne on her back was a refreshing sight. Before she could decide what to do, Anne was reaching up to her shorts, flicking open the button. 

“Take these off,” she whispered breathlessly. 

Ann grinned as she stood to shimmy out of her shorts and panties. She knelt over Anne, rocking her wet center over Anne’s toned stomach. Anne’s hands shot up, wrapping around her hips. She leaned over Anne, pressed a teasing kiss to her lips. The hands on her hips tugged her forward. Anne raised her eyebrows, a smirk playing at her lips. Ann was lost. 

“Come on,” Anne husked, pulling Ann forward, tilting her head backward. What did she mean? Ann’s pleasure-soaked brain couldn’t quite figure out what Anne meant for her to do until – “Adney, sit on my face.”

Oh.

Ann gulped as she made her way on her knees to hover over Anne’s face. Anne’s hands wrapped around her thighs, pulled her down. 

And Ann saw stars. 

Anne had gone down on her before, but this was something different. Anne’s tongue pressed and stroked; her lips sucked and hummed; her teeth nipped and grazed. Ann’s hips rolled over Anne’s skilled mouth as breathless gasps escaped her. Anne brought two fingers up to tease Ann’s entrance before plunging into her. Ann slumped over the window sill, resting her weight on her forearms. Anne’s fingers were merciless, stretching her over and over, even as her tongue stroked her clit with tantalizing tenderness. 

“Anne, please,” she begged, grinding more forcefully. 

Ann heard and felt a soft hum before Anne took her clit lightly between her teeth. Ann felt her stomach muscles contract, her thighs tense, her hips rut impossibly faster. 

“Yes, Anne, yes, yes, yes.” She felt her orgasm wash over her as her body seized. Her legs gave out, but Anne’s strong hands held her up as she lapped at her center with increasing gentleness. Finally, Ann laid her hand over Anne’s, a silent request for release. Anne’s hands fell away, and Ann rolled onto her back next to her. 

Ann stared at the ceiling, catching her breath, for a few long minutes. Anne was propped up her elbow, tracing circles across Ann’s stomach. Ann felt her breathing slow, her heart rate even out. Not entirely spent, Ann reached over and pulled Anne in for a sloppy kiss. When they separated, Anne had that fiendish look on her face.

“Ready?” she whispered as she slung her leg over Ann’s lap to straddle her. 

Because if there was one thing Anne was really, really bad at, it was resisting Ann Walker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Thank you for sharing your thoughts, too - every comment makes me smile, helps me write the next chapter. Y'all are the greatest.


	13. Friday Night

Anne set their plates on the small wooden table on Ann’s back deck and admired the warm glow of sunset over the garden. She hoped Ann wasn’t still upset about Anne’s shortness with her this afternoon. In Anne’s experience two to four orgasms usually induced forgiveness for her bullheadedness, which is why she had brought Ann over the edge no less than five times. She couldn’t take any chances. Honestly, though, Ann hadn’t seemed too upset in the first place. She had this calmness about her that Anne had never experienced. Anne had extremely limited experience with women who wouldn’t pick a fight with her; it had seemed to be Mariana’s favorite pastime. 

She’d pulled Ann from the library floor about six o’clock, retrieved fresh underwear, then set to work in the kitchen. Ann had served as sous chef, even preparing macaroni and cheese (from a box) almost entirely on her own. Anne was genuinely proud of her. 

They settled into their meal, a companionable silence stretching between them. 

“Earlier, uh, in the library,” Ann started.

“Yes,” Anne purred, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“You called me Adney, I think, uh, wha – where did that come from?”

“Oh! Well,” Anne was actually excited to explain this, “I was doing a bit of research this afternoon and I stumbled on this botanical term, adnate. Now this comes from the Latin, agnatus, which actually, technically means a relative of the male line. Someone you’re related to through your father. Which, of course you are not. I hope.”

Ann giggled, which made Anne grin. She loved hearing Ann laugh, and she loved it even more when she was the cause. 

“But, it has this derivative term: adnatus, which is made up of the preposition ‘ad,’ meaning to or toward, and then ‘natus,’ which can mean age or birth. Now, before you fall asleep, the botanical term, adnate, means to grow together or to be joined by having grown together. Right? So, I sort of feel that way about us,” Anne ran the side of her foot up Ann’s shin. “Or about your effect on me, at least. I feel that we have grown together by being joined. Or that by growing together, we are joined.” Anne considered for a moment. “Something like that. But adnate is sort of scientific and sterile, so I thought maybe Adney, which is short and cute and easy on the tongue. Like you.”

Ann laughed and leaned over to kiss Anne lightly. Anne felt the warmth of her laughter, her kiss, her presence wash over her. 

“Only you, Anne Lister, could go from explaining Latin definitions to a very sweet pet name to a lewd comment about tongues.”

Anne could only smile and wink as she chewed. It occurred to her that Mariana would never have let her ramble so long about etymology, would never have been remotely interested.

They finished their meal in heated discussion over the superior macaroni and cheese recipe: baked bread crumbs (Ann’s opinion) or smooth (Anne’s opinion).

“But what you’re not taking into consideration, Adney, is the preparation. Certainly everyone loves paella, but it’s a real pain to make. So I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite dinner.”

“You didn’t ask what was easiest to make,” Ann countered, “you asked what was best. And baked bread crumbs on mac and cheese is the best.”

“Part of what makes something the best is how easily you can make it!”

“You’re impossible. I’m not having this discussion with you,” Ann sunk low in her chair and stretched her legs to Anne’s lap. 

Anne massaged Ann’s tiny feet as she shook her head. They really were well-matched. For all her petite stature and initial shyness, Ann could hold her own. For a few long moments, they just looked at each other, as if daring the other to make the first move. 

“I think I’ll take a bath,” Ann said finally. 

“Perfect! We can finish Fried Green Tomatoes!” Anne squeezed Ann’s shins in excitement. 

“I guess,” Ann seemed deflated.

They cleared the table and climbed the stairs, hand-in-hand, but Anne was unsettled. Did she not like the book? Was she bored of Anne’s voice? Did Ann want some time away from her? She sat on the floor, back against the tub, and watched Ann strip as the hot water ran. Would Ann grow weary of her? Anne was very aware that her personality could be overwhelming, tiresome. Perhaps she’d better let Ann have her bath in peace. Anne could read or catch up on her journal or call her aunt. She was just about to say so, when Ann’s warm, wet hand trailed along her shoulders.

“I thought you were reading to me, Pony.”

“Oh, yes, well,” Anne hesitated, “only if you want me to.”

“You know I love your voice.”

The gravelly timbre to Ann’s words sent a shiver down Anne’s spine. She picked up the worn paperback and started reading, but she had trouble concentrating. Ann’s hand ran along her neck, through her hair, below her collar. At one point her wandering fingers traced Anne’s clavicle, and it was all Anne could do to stop herself from capturing them between her teeth. They had just gotten to Ruth’s death when Ann interrupted her. 

“Would you wash my hair?”

“What?” Anne turned her head. 

“Would you wash my hair?” Ann repeated, as if Anne hadn’t heard the first time. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Anne closed the book and scrambled to kneel behind Ann’s head as she dunked under water. 

Maybe it was residual grief over the fictional death of Ruth Threadgoode, maybe it was the sight of Ann’s perfect body spread before her, or maybe it was the soft hums Ann let out as Anne massaged her scalp. Either way, Anne started to feel a strange sadness well in her chest. She was boring Ann, just as she bored Mariana so often. She was good for a nice fuck, but she was a bit tedious otherwise. And Ann had realized it. That business with “Adney” at dinner? Desperate. Insipid. Embarrassing. Then reading Fried Green Tomatoes when the poor girl just wanted to bathe in peace? Christ, Lister, give it a rest. 

I shall be done with her, Anne thought as she ran conditioner through Ann’s hair. She is in an odd mood, clearly tired of me or preoccupied or both. I’ll sleep in my own bed. Let her miss me. I care not much for her. It won’t bother me at all. 

Ann dunked her head underwater, rinsing her hair. Anne took in the sight of her lithe, nude body once more as she stood. 

“Well, I’ll go to my room then,” Anne said quietly. 

“What?” 

“I need to catch up my journal. I’m about a day and a half behind. You don’t have to wait up for me.”

“I will,” Ann said resolutely. She stood, the water sloshing below her. “Come to bed when you’ve finished.”

Anne nodded mutely and left the room. She spent about an hour chronicling the last 36 hours, most of which had been a delight. It was only the last hour or so that left a sour taste in her mouth. Of course, that colored her entire entry, and she felt less than satisfied for having written it. She pushed back from the desk and flipped her journal closed. 10:34. She considered the rumpled bed behind her; she could curl up there, claim exhaustion, let Ann have a taste of solitude. But the sheets were still mussed and tangled from their morning activities. She wasn’t sure she could sleep alone in a bed that smelled so much of Ann.

She slipped into sweats and a t-shirt, then padded down the hall to Ann’s room. True to her word, Ann was awake, propped up in bed scrolling through her phone. 

“Hi,” she said warmly as Anne closed the door behind her. 

“Hi,” Anne rounded the bed and climbed in. 

Ann locked her phone and put it on the bedside table. She turned to Anne and studied her face for several long moments. Anne started to feel uncomfortable, her face growing hot under Ann’s intense gaze. 

“What is it?” she asked finally.

“I’m trying to figure out what’s different in your face. You seem … deflated, maybe. Or disappointed.”

“I’m tired,” Anne turned her head to turn off the lamp. 

“No,” Ann grabbed her chin and turned Anne’s head back to face her; “it’s not that.” She studied Anne for a minute more, her eyes narrowed in concentration. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m always alright.”

“You’re not. So what is it?”

“Ann, I’ve told you,” Anne was growing exasperated, “it’s nothing. Can we go to sleep?”

“No,” Ann said evenly, then swung her leg over Anne’s to straddle her lap. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking I’m very tired and I should like to go to bed.”

“Now I know something’s wrong. You’re not thinking about sex at all?” Ann rolled her hips over Anne’s thighs.

Of course, she was thinking about sex. She almost always was. Especially when Ann was around. Even more when she was wearing one of these shapeless shirts that hung off her shoulder and showed her perfect collarbones. Not to mention sitting in Anne’s lap. It was all she could do to keep her hands at her sides, not run them up Ann’s creamy thighs, across her abdomen, over her breasts, between her – 

“Not at all,” Anne said evenly. 

“Tell me what’s wrong with you,” Ann demanded. 

“Nothing is wrong with me,” frustration seeped into her voice. 

“You have fifteen seconds to tell me before … before I tickle you,” Ann was deeply serious, her head nodding with sincerity. 

“You will not.” Ordinarily, Ann’s plan might have made her laugh, but right now she just wanted this conversation to end. Anne moved to flip Ann off of her, but the little thing pinned her arms against the headboard. 

“Anne, come on,” Ann’s voice dropped; “what’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Anne chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. She could tell Ann, see the reaction, and move from there. At least then she would know. Or she could obfuscate, deny, avoid, and pass a restless night. She looked up at Ann’s pleading blue eyes. 

“I have realized that I am tiresome, and that I have bored you this evening,” Anne said with a sigh. “I am merely embarrassed by that and trying to avoid more of the same. That is all.”

Ann’s brow furrowed her confusion, her eyes moving over Anne’s face as she processed. Here it comes, Anne thought, the truth. You had a good run, Lister. 

“Are you kidding?” Ann asked, her eyebrows still knit together. 

“I understand that I can, uh, drone on a bit. I’ve been told in that past that I, well, that I talk too much. I forget myself. So I apologize for that. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re serious?”

“Ann, please, let’s go to sleep and forget this evening ever –”

Anne’s self-pity was cut short by Ann wrapping her fist in the front of Ann’s shirt and pulling her in for a fierce kiss. Anne, at last, brought her hands to Ann’s perfect hips, pulling the younger woman flush to her. She didn’t know why Ann was kissing her, why she was still tolerating her, but she would take what she could get. 

“You are out of your mind, Dr. Lister,” Ann breathed when they parted. “You don’t bore me. You never could. Have you not noticed me hanging on your every word like it’s gospel?”

“But this evening, when you wanted to take a bath, I overstepped and forced myself into your private time with my old book. You seemed so disappointed when I brought it up, and -”

Ann kissed her again, this time plunging her tongue deep into Anne’s mouth before pulling away. 

“Do you know why I was disappointed?”

Anne shook her head.

“I had thought, maybe, you would join me. In the bath.” Ann raised her eyebrows. 

Anne could only stare back in disbelief. Had she misinterpreted everything? 

“But then you cut me off, at the saddest part, to wash your hair, so I figured you weren’t really listen–”

Ann once again pulled Anne’s lips to hers, nipping at her bottom lip. 

“The water was getting cold. I was getting desperate. I wanted to get out, but not before I felt your hands on me.” Ann rolled her hips slowly, “I had hoped you would dip your hands into the water,” here Ann pulled her shirt over her head, revealing light blue panties underneath. “Run your hand down my neck, over my chest,” Ann reached up to cup her own breasts, hips rolling ever-so-slightly faster. “Then one hand would trace down my stomach,” Ann’s left hand moved down her torso, to the waistband of her panties, “right to where I needed you the most.”

Anne swallowed, her throat suddenly incredibly dry. She watched in amazement as Ann rubbed her own core over her underwear, massaging her breast, grinding into Anne’s lap. Anne gripped her hips more tightly, guiding her into an even rhythm. Her head was still spinning from Ann’s words. She really had misread everything. She’d gotten so caught up in her own past, what Mariana had said to her a million years ago, that she’d forgotten about the woman right in front of her. She’d forgotten that Ann was different. Was she a complete idiot?

“Yes, you are,” Ann panted. Anne realized she must have said that last part out loud. “If you’re not going to touch me,” Ann finished. 

And with that, Anne snapped out of it. She rolled Ann onto her back, settling between her perfect legs. Ann’s giggles turned to breathy moans as Anne kissed her way down her body – over her breasts, her sternum, each individual rib. She dragged her tongue across Ann’s soft belly, over her hipbones, down to the apex of her thighs. She dragged Ann’s soaked panties down her legs, tossing them over her shoulder. She looked up at Ann once more: her head arched back into the pillows, her hands grasping at the sheets, her perfectly round breasts heaving with every labored breath. She really was desperate. 

Anne lifted Ann’s legs onto her shoulders before she dipped her head to take Ann in her mouth. She was rewarded with a long moan. She lapped slowly at Ann’s dripping core, reveling in the taste of her on her tongue. Then she moved up to nose at Ann’s clit before taking it between her lips. Ann’s hands shot to her head, tangling in Anne’s low ponytail. The insistent tugging on her hair made Anne nearly wild; she brought her hand down to stroke her own clit. She would’ve been surprised at the wetness she found there, if she wasn’t so caught up in the woman spread before her. 

She brought her free hand to Ann’s hip, holding her firmly in place. She continued to suck at Ann’s clit and stroke her core, all the while rubbing her own center furiously. Ann’s throaty moans filled the room, growing higher with each pass of Anne’s tongue, until, finally – 

“Right there, Anne, yes, I’m so close, yes, yes, yes.” Ann’s legs tensed, fresh arousal soaking Anne’s face, Ann’s fingers holding Anne’s head to her in a vise. Anne slowed her movements with her tongue, stilling her hand over her own core. She kissed Ann’s inner thighs, her belly, her clavicle, her lips. Ann hummed into the kiss as Anne hovered over her. 

Anne had been so close before, but she didn’t want to rush Ann’s recovery. She watched Ann’s breathing even out, her eyes drift open, her lazy, satisfied smile spread across her lips. She ran her hand down Anne’s torso, then into her sweats. Anne gasped as Ann’s hand cupped her possessively. Ann’s smile grew as she moved her fingers lazily over Anne’s center, collecting her wetness, then back up to her clit. 

It was too slow, it was too gentle, it was maddening. Anne brought a hand between them, pushing Ann’s hand more forcefully against her. 

“Adney, please,” she husked.

That was all it took, it seemed. Ann’s fingers moved frantically over Anne’s clit, meeting each thrust of her hips. Ann wrapped her free hand around Anne’s neck, brought her in for a bruising kiss. As she pulled away, Ann started to whisper in her ear. 

“D’you know you’re the most fascinating woman on the planet to me? I could listen to you explain derivatives or botany or the phone book and get wet just from the sound of your voice.” Anne whimpered at Ann’s words. “Even at dinner tonight I had to restrain myself from jumping you right there on the deck. Letting you ravish me out there in the open.” Anne nodded. Her eyes were closed tight, her hips thrusting more and more insistently. She was close; she was so close. “And then everybody would know that I was yours. Nobody else’s but yours. And you’re mine.”

Anne came. Hard. Panting. Shuddering. Gasping. Ann slowed her fingers, placed feather-light kisses along her jaw, ran her fingers under Anne’s t-shirt along her back. Finally Ann slid her hand out from Anne’s sweats, and Anne rolled onto the pillows. Ann reached over her for her sleeping shirt and slipped it over her head before pulling the sheets up around them. 

“I meant it, you know,” Ann whispered as snuggled into the pillows. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

Anne nodded, training her eyes on the ceiling in the hopes of reining in her tears. Could Ann reverse twenty years of self-loathing in a single night? She’d come pretty close. 

“I’m so lucky to be in love you,” Ann placed a kiss on Anne’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to @kerrydhudson on Twitter who proposed the meaning behind Adney, which I've now accepted as absolute truth. Anne's pouting and second-guessing is my interpretation of all those entries that go "Miss W- in a queer mood. I shall be done with her" etc. etc. and then the next day is like "2 kisses last night." I think Anne was a bit of a drama queen, would vent to her diary, then they'd make up and she'd move on.   
> Anyway! Thank you for reading! I am so appreciative of hit, kudos, and comment.


	14. Saturday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning is a mixture between, of course, the nighttime scene in Episode 6 and an entry I saw a while ago that after they were married Ann Walker, when she thought someone was in the house, made Anne investigate "with a pistol in one hand and candle in the other."

There was someone in the house. Of that, Ann was entirely certain. She heard creaking on the stairs, footsteps in the hallway. Had they locked the back door? Ann was increasingly suspicious they had not. Someone had come into the house and was prowling around. She sat up and looked over at Anne’s profile; she could only make out her sharp nose in the dim light, but Ann could tell she was still asleep.

Ann had been awake for nearly thirty minutes wrestling over what to do. She was absolutely not going to investigate. She wanted Anne to go investigate, to protect her, to set her mind at ease. But she didn’t want to disturb her. Ann bit her lip as she considered. Would Anne be upset? She heard another thump outside their door. Ann decided to risk it.

“Anne,” she whispered urgently, shaking Anne’s shoulder. Anne scrunched her eyebrows, licked her lips, settled further into the pillow. “Anne!” 

Anne’s eyes opened slowly; she swallowed drowsily. Her hand came out to pat Ann’s knee. 

“What is it, darling?”

“There’s someone in the house.”

“Yes, Ann, there’s you and me and James and –” Anne’s eyes were already drifting closed again. 

“Don’t be glib! There’s someone else in the house. I can hear them.”

Anne hummed, then sat up. She ran a hand through her tangled hair and studied Ann’s face. Ann tried to express the severity of their situation through her eyes. She could tell Anne was not taking her seriously. 

“So … what? You want me to go have a look?”

Ann nodded frantically. Anne sighed and heaved herself upright. Ann knelt at the edge of the bed, terrified. Anne lit the flashlight on her phone, then came to kiss Ann softly on the top of her head. Ann grabbed the hem of her shirt, torn between wanting her to go and wanting her to stay. Anne clicked her tongue softly.

“I’ll be alright. I’ll be right back.”

Anne moved to the door, looking back at Ann one more time with a tender smile. 

“Wait!” Ann whisper-shouted, “take this.” She reached under the bed and produced a golf club; she held it out to Anne. Anne chuckled, but she took it. 

“Thank you,” Anne said teasingly. Ann knew she didn’t take her seriously, but she would feel better knowing Anne had it. 

Anne was gone for ages – though the clock on the nightstand showed just a few minutes. Ann was nearly desperate with fear by the time Anne reappeared, dimming her phone’s flashlight and propping the golf club in the corner. 

“Nobody,” Anne soothed, climbing back into bed and wrapping Ann in her arms. “Nothing there. I walked through the whole house. There was a window open; the shutter was kind of banging against the wall in the wind. The hinge was creaky too. I wonder if that’s what you heard.”

Ann nodded her head against Anne’s chest, clutching at her middle. Not for the first time, Ann felt profound gratitude at having Anne Lister in her life, in her house, in her bed. Any other night, Ann would’ve spent hours tormented by visions of burglars and murders, paralyzed in her lonely bed. Tonight, she was safe in the warm cocoon of Anne’s strong arms. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. Anne rubbed the back of her head, placed another kiss to her temple. “I used to have night terrors, you know.”

“Did you?” Anne’s voice betrayed nothing. Ann wasn’t sure she should be telling Anne this – she might think her unbalanced or troubled or needy – but she couldn’t stop the words tumbling from her. 

“I did. When I was a teenager. I would wake up and hear voices. Nasty voices. It was awful. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. But I got into therapy, and I got some medication, and – I mean now I don’t hear voices anymore. Nobody in my family takes me seriously because of it. They think I’m out of my mind, crazy, an invalid.”

“You don’t seem very invalid to me,” Anne’s voice was husky, low. 

“I appreciate you taking it seriously. Taking me seriously.”

Ann could feel Anne’s chest rise as she inhaled, about to speak, but then her chest fell again in silence. Anne’s gentle fingers returned to her scalp.

“I always take you seriously, Adney. I am very serious about you.”

Ann allowed herself to relax into the sensation of Anne’s even breath, her fingers in her hair, her warm body. She had almost drifted to sleep when – 

“I do have a small problem with you though,” Anne’s voice was teasing. Ann could hear her grin, even if she couldn’t see it. “You sent me to face a burglar or a murderer or both with a golf club. Not much of a weapon.”

Ann giggled into Anne’s chest, shaking her head. 

“That’s how I can tell you’re really posh. You don’t have a bat or a stick by your bed, you have a 9-iron.” 

Ann sat up, indignation coloring her face. Anne raised her eyebrows sardonically.

“You’re one to talk. Gotta be pretty posh to know the difference between golf clubs.” Ann laughed and poked Anne in the side. “I just picked that one out because it was the shortest.”

Anne threw her head back and laughed, sinking down lower into the pillows and pulling Ann back to her chest. 

“I guess we’re quite a pair then,” she said softly. Ann hummed her agreement as she nuzzled into Anne, closing her eyes. Before she knew it, she was asleep. 

When she woke, the sun was streaming through the window, Anne was rubbing her back, and the birds were singing their shrill morning songs. Hold on – Anne was still here? In bed? When the sun was up? Ann nuzzled more firmly into Anne’s chest, intent on staying in this bubble for as long as possible. 

“Good morning,” Anne purred from above her. 

“How are you still here?” Ann asked quietly, picking at the drawstring of Anne’s sweatpants. She noticed Anne shift her hips almost imperceptibly. 

“I just am. Do you mind?”

“No!” Ann sat up sharply. Anne grinned at her urgency, so Ann had no choice but to lean forward and claim that grin as her own. 

“Oh good,” Anne said facetiously as they separated, “I should be heartbroken to be thrown out of bed after protecting you from dozens of bloodthirsty robbers in the night.”

“Is that what happened?” Ann teased as she pressed wet kisses along Anne’s jaw. 

“Oh yes,” Anne nodded seriously. “I had to fight 20, maybe 30 vicious criminals on your stairway in the wee hours.”

“Really?” Ann breathed, her fingers dancing across Anne’s waistband. 

“I was very brave.”

“I’m sure you were” Ann stretched her neck to kiss Anne lightly.

“Luckily I had my trusty sword with me.”

“I thought it was a 9-iron,” Ann dipped her fingers into Anne’s sweats, keeping her fingers light over her center. 

“Only – oh,” Anne shifted her hips as Ann traced her clit through the fabric, “only nonbelievers see the golf club. Those who are – um – ” Ann dipped into her boxers, “pure of heart and mind can see the sword.”

“I must have a rather dirty mind then,” Ann breathed, trailing her fingers through Anne’s arousal. 

Anne laughed hoarsely, her eyes slipping closed as Ann continued her light strokes. She was just starting to pant when – her stomach rumbled. Ann looked up the older woman, and they dissolved into laughter together. 

“We’d better go eat,” Ann whispered as she withdrew her hand and wiped it on the sheet. 

They walked downstairs in their pajamas, chatting innocuously about the weather, how they slept, the softness of their bed. Ann still felt she needed to thank Anne properly for her nighttime heroics. Sometimes it seemed like Anne was always the one making plans, leading their relationship, supporting Ann. Not that Ann minded. In fact, she rather enjoyed it. But she wanted to do something for Anne for once. 

“What shall we have, hmm?” Anne asked as she opened a cupboard. 

“Toast? It’s my specialty,” Ann offered. 

“Too decadent, Miss Walker,” Anne teased, wrapping her arms around Ann’s waist and pulling her in for a soft kiss. “Sounds perfect, darling. Can I help?”

“No,” Ann pushed lightly on Anne’s chest, “I told you – 9 times out 10 I can do it on my own.”

Anne leaned against the counter, arms crossed, that damned fiendish grin covering her face. Ann set to her task – fiddling with the oven, locating a baking sheet, pulling bread from the pantry and butter from the fridge. She spread butter on several pieces of bread before popping the whole thing in the oven. She turned back to Anne, who was watching her intently. Anne pushed off from the counter, made to move toward Ann, but she held her hand up.

“Don’t break my concentration, or I’m liable to burn this whole house down.”

Anne raised her hands in surrender and retreated back to the edge of the counter. 

Ann located oven mitts and pulled the pan from the oven, closing it with a knock of her hip. Okay, she assessed, this was alright. One piece was a little burnt, but the rest were pretty golden brown. She smiled to herself as she slid each piece onto one large plate. Not too bad, she thought, not too bad. 

They ate standing over the kitchen counter, scattering crumbs across the surface. Anne quizzed her on art, her work, her favorite painters, asking thoughtful questions and listening to Ann in a way that made her skin tingle. No one had ever been so interested in her opinions. 

“Do you not feel Seurat is rather – well – analytical in his approach? All the business with optics and color theory. It’s a bit dry, isn’t it? For art,” Anne munched. 

“No!” Ann protested, “that’s the whole thing. He’s using scientific laws to create emotions, to make us feel things when we look at a certain arrangement of colors. It’s bloody brilliant.”

Anne nodded, swallowed. Ann felt a trail of butter slip from the corner of her mouth; Anne caught it with her thumb, then brought her thumb to her mouth. 

“Don’t tell me your favorite artist – Rothko or Picasso or one of those abstract postmodernists,” Ann teased breathlessly. “You’re too serious for a nice painting of an elephant.”

Anne laughed heartily, “Ceci n’est pas un pipe.” Her French was exquisite. 

“I hate that painting!” Ann exclaimed, “it’s art! We get that it’s a picture of a pipe! You’re not clever!”

Anne was laughing again, wrapping her arms around Ann’s waist and pulling her close. Ann brought her arms around Anne’s neck, bringing her in for a slow kiss. 

“What kind of art do you like, Pony?”

“I like you,” Anne purred.

“Doesn’t count,” Ann shook her head, unable to suppress her grin. Anne thought she was so smooth. 

“I like Georgia O’Keefe,” Anne said sincerely. 

Ann laughed, dropping her head to rest on Anne’s chest. This woman – this handsome, strong, intelligent, absolutely insane woman. Ann couldn’t believe she was real. 

“What?” Anne was indignant. “Her paintings are quite nice.”

“Of course, you like her paintings,” Ann smiled up at her; “they’re all vaginas.”

“They are not!”

“They absolutely are.”

“What about the one with the cow skull?”

“No, you’re right, that one’s a uterus.”

Anne’s jaw dropped in feigned offense. She bent her knees and – suddenly Ann was in her arms. Anne’s arms cradled her back and knees, carrying her out of the kitchen and upstairs. Ann laughed delightedly, wrapping her arms around Anne’s neck. 

“I ought to have you over my knee for that, Miss Walker,” Anne growled, “making fun of my artistic sensibility.”

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep,” Ann whispered before trailing her lips along Anne’s long neck. 

“Oh, I always keep my promises – you should know that by now.”

Ann felt a shiver run up her spine as they crossed the threshold to her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already written the filth that follows this - should I go ahead and upload it this afternoon? It is... Good Lord.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Every hit, kudos, and comment mean the world to me.


	15. Saturday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since you all asked so nicely...

If you’d told Anne a week ago that she’d spend her Saturday afternoon putting Ann Walker on her hands and knees, she probably would have hit you for making such a lewd suggestion. She certainly wouldn’t have believed you. And if you’d told her Ann Walker would drip with arousal at being spanked, she may have broken your arm. And if you’d persisted and told her that Ann Walker – shy, young, reclusive Ann Walker – would cry out in the affirmative at having her ass eaten, she most definitely would have knocked your lights out. 

And yet, Anne found herself in that exact situation. At 1 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. Three fingers sliding easily in and out of Ann’s perfect core. Her face buried between Ann’s red cheeks. Ann’s filthy moans and mews filling the room, punctuated by the slick sound of their skin meeting. Good Lord. 

It had started simply enough – teasing looks, baiting comments, sweeping Ann up into her arms and into the bedroom. It delighted her how easily she could fling Ann about. Then that comment on the stairs about having her over her knee – a risk, a dare. Ann had seized at the bait, so that by the time they were in Ann’s bedroom, Anne felt her hands already itching. 

As always, though, she was careful to be uncommonly gentle in molding Ann to her own ways. She’d undressed the younger woman with tantalizing slowness, a deliberate change of pace from impulsively picking her up in the kitchen. She’d kissed every inch of Ann’s stomach, torso, and breasts as she pulled her shirt slowly up her body and over her head. Finally, she’d flung it to the floor and caught Ann in an equally slow and languorous kiss. Anne reveled in the feeling of Ann’s tongue sliding between her lips, her fingers grasping at her shoulders, her hips pressing urgently against her. But Anne was the picture of control – she wanted Ann to beg. 

After several long minutes, Ann pushed her backward to the bed. Anne faltered when the backs of her knees hit the mattress; Ann pressed lightly on her shoulders. Anne sat down, pulling Ann to stand between her legs. Anne could smell Ann’s arousal, ran her hand down to dip between her legs. Ann moaned at the contact, her head falling back as she pulled Anne in to her chest. Anne grinned – Ann was always so ready for her. She took Ann’s breast in her mouth as she circled her entrance slowly. Ann let out a tiny groan of frustration. Anne nipped lightly at her nipple, then moved to her other breast and repeated the process. 

“Anne, Anne, please,” Ann was panting. 

“You must be patient, Miss Walker,” Anne growled. Ann keened, pressing her hips desperately into Anne’s hand. 

And that’s when Anne spanked her. 

Not hard. Just enough to sting. To fill the room with that perfect sound, followed closely by Ann’s gasp (another perfect sound). 

“D’you like that?” Anne whispered as she kissed Ann’s neck. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Ann, to scare her off, to push her too far. Ann nodded feverishly. “I’m serious, Adney, tell me if you don’t. I won’t be upset.”

“Pony, please,” her voice was desperate, “do it again.”

Anne placed another smack across Ann’s other cheek, earning her another breathy moan and a gush of wetness around her fingers. She thrust savagely into Ann, whose legs, at this point, gave way. Anne wrapped her arm around Ann’s slender waist, holding her up, as she moved her fingers in and out in desperation. She was looking for that perfect spot inside her; she hadn’t found it yet, had been rather disappointed in herself for that reason. She curled her fingers – Ann was close – then – there it was. Ann shuddered over her, her arousal coating Anne’s hand as she whimpered incoherently. Anne kissed her clavicle lightly as she caught her breath. 

“Good Lord,” Ann breathed as she straightened, placing her hands squarely on Anne’s shoulders. 

“I’m not quite done with you,” Anne said fiendishly, “if you’re ready.”

Ann nodded, wide-eyed. Anne motioned for her to get on the bed, which she did. Anne took her in, sitting cross-legged in the middle of this rumpled bed, her chest still a light pink, her hair wild over her shoulders, her lips swollen. 

“I wonder if you might get on your knees,” Anne whispered, wanting to give Ann the option to decline. She doubted she would, feeling fairly confident she knew what Ann would like, but she was aware she was pushing her boundaries. Ann bit her lip, then moved to her knees, back straight. Anne kicked her sweats to the floor, wanting the increased mobility of wearing only her boxers. She climbed onto the bed and kissed Ann again. She tried to recapture the slow, careful kisses of before, but Ann was impatient. She nipped at Anne’s bottom lip, then waggled her eyebrows. Not for the first time, Anne realized they were exceedingly well-matched. 

Anne moved behind her, then placed a firm hand on Ann’s back, pressing slightly. Ann resisted at first, then fell forward to balance on her forearms. Anne couldn’t help licking her lips at the sight before her. Ann’s lithe, pale form spread out before her like a buffet. Her perfectly round ass in the air. Anne felt her own arousal trickle down her thigh. 

“Now you must tell me if you don’t like it, okay?” Anne whispered, running her hands over Ann’s hips, up her back. “Seriously, Ann.”

“My God, Pony, can we get on with it?” Ann’s voice was exasperated, desperate. Anne felt a grin cover her face. She cocked her right hand back and – 

Ann gasped and shot forward at the light blow, then pressed her hips back. Asking for another. Anne complied, placing a matching slap on Ann’s other cheek before delving between her legs. Ann cried out at the intrusion, catching Anne’s rhythm and matching her pace with her hips. Anne thrust into her evenly, enjoying the feeling of Ann’s tight walls clamping around her fingers. She slid a third finger in along the others. Ann whimpered, her face dropping down to the sheets. 

Anne smiled as she ran her free hand up Ann’s back, over her hips, around her ass. She thought wistfully of her strap, locked away in her room at Shibden. How much Ann would enjoy it, how perfectly she could fill her. Perhaps she could sneak over there – no, too risky. Or she could order a new one – would Amazon still do two-day delivery when – 

“Anne?” Ann’s small voice broke into her thoughts. Oh Lord, she’d stopped moving. Shit. Anne was still coming to her senses when she felt Ann shift back, thrusting evenly onto her hand, matching the rhythm Anne had set just moments ago. Anne held her hand steady at her core, letting Ann guide the pace of their meeting. Ann’s tiny white hand reached between her own legs to rub her clit in unison. Anne’s jaw fell open; her mouth ran dry. How could any one person be this perfect?

Anne bent her head and placed light kisses across Ann’s ass, up her spine, finally at the base of her neck. Ann was rutting more quickly now, biting the sheets to keep from crying out. Anne dropped her head to Ann’s ear. 

“You look so good on my hand. Fucking yourself.” Ann whimpered in response, her hips gaining speed. “You’re so wet, aren’t you?” Ann nodded furiously. “What would happen if I –”

With no more warning than that, Anne pulled her hand away and sat back on her heels. Ann groaned at the lost, turning her head to look at Anne over her shoulder. Her eyes begged Anne to continue. 

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” Anne said as she slapped Ann on the ass. 

Ann keened and nodded. 

“You were so close, weren’t you?” Slap. Moan. Nod. 

“You could come if I would just –” Slap. Moan. Nod. 

“But you’re being very patient, aren’t you?” Slap. Moan. Nod. 

Anne brought her lips to Ann’s red cheeks, kissing and massaging the sore spots. She kissed the little divots at the base of Ann’s back, then dragged her tongue to Ann’s puckered hole. Ann shot forward at the sensation. It was divine and filthy and wanton. Anne continued to move her tongue in light strokes as she snaked her hand around to slip inside Ann once more. Thrusting slowly and evening, she worked a gentle rhythm between Ann’s legs. Ann was panting, shaking, her hips urging Anne to speed up. Anne did, in time, keeping her tongue slow and methodical, even as her hand moved more quickly. For the second time, Ann brought her own hand to her clit, rubbing frantically until, at last, she shuddered and fell forward, cries of “yes” and “Anne” and “please” tumbling from her lips. 

Anne sat up slowly, easing Ann down from her high. Her own arousal dripped down her inner thigh, so she slid her hand down into her boxers as Ann lay panting before her. She touched herself to the sounds Ann had made, the taste of her on her tongue, the way she’d leaned back into Anne’s touch. Anne thought desperately of the sound of her hand meeting Ann’s ass, the feeling of her arousal between her fingers, the force of her hips. She strummed her clit furiously, feeling her stomach muscles tighten, her legs shake. Ann rolled over in front of her, and it was the wrecked, satisfied, head-over-heels look on her face that sent Anne over the edge. 

She collapsed forward, her face pressed to Ann’s clammy chest as her body seized once, twice, then slackened. Ann ran her fingers through her hair, scratching at Anne’s scalp, as they panted together. Finally Anne rolled onto her back.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed. 

“Seriously,” Ann laughed. 

“Holy fuck,” Anne couldn’t find anything else to say. 

“I know,” Ann agreed. 

“When you were –” Anne gestured with her hands. 

“Right, but then you –” Ann pointed vaguely. 

“Jesus, Ann.”

Ann rolled onto her stomach, hovering over Anne’s face. She kissed her slowly, deeply. Anne ran her hand up Ann’s back, across her shoulder blades. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so satisfied. 

“Let’s take a bath,” Ann whispered. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ann sat up, “we can finish our book.”'

“Really? Last time you were in the bath, you wanted me to –”

“No,” Ann drew out the word, standing in the doorway to the bathroom. “No, Pony, I can’t handle it.” She laughed and disappeared into the white tile. 

Anne grinned at the ceiling. If you’d told her a week ago she’d be in love with Ann Walker, she would have told you it was impossible, unrealistic, she didn’t believe in love anymore. And yet, Anne found herself in that exact situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting. 
> 
> I'm off to take a cold shower and hide under a rock.


	16. Saturday Night

Ann slid into the hot water as Anne finished typing something on her phone. She placed it next to the sink, then turned to Ann. She pushed her boxers over her hips, and they pooled on the floor around her feet. She twisted out of her t-shirt and let it drift to the tile as well. It occurred to Ann that she had never seen Anne naked – she’d kissed her and touched her plenty, but she’d never seen her completely naked. Ann dragged her eyes slowly up from Anne’s toned calves, to her lean thighs, past the dark thatch of hair, over her toned stomach and narrow hips, to her small breasts, up her long neck, and finally to her deep brown eyes. Anne’s normally ramrod straight back was curved, her shoulders slumped. Was it possible Anne Lister was shy?

Ann smiled warmly, held out her wet hand to the older woman, beckoned her closer. Anne rolled her eyes and bit her lip, but she stepped forward. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Ann whispered as she took her hand, placed a soft kiss to the back of it. 

“Hardly,” Anne replied, leaning down to capture Ann’s lips in a slow, searching kiss. Ann couldn’t quite identify the emotion in Anne’s eyes, on her lips. Was she uncomfortable? Nervous? And whatever for? Anne was in impressive shape, tall and strong. She was clearly comfortable in her body when dressed, and she was hardly shy in the bedroom. What made this so different?

Anne hummed as she pulled away, flicking her head to get Ann to scoot forward in the tub. Ann acquiesced, and Anne stepped into the water behind her. Ann brought her legs together, allowing Anne the space to spread hers on either side, then leaned back onto Anne’s chest. She sighed in contentment as she felt Anne’s hands trace lightly through her hair, along her neck, over her shoulders. 

“Are you comfortable?” Anne asked.

“Oh yes, but,” Ann paused, deciding to risk it, “I wonder if you are.”

“Warm bath, beautiful girl in my arms, endorphins still racing through my blood? Yes, darling,” Anne chuckled, “I’m fine.”

Ann considered letting it go, letting Anne get away with her bravado and her smokescreen confidence. Then she decided against it.

“You have a very nice body,” she ventured.

“You flatter me.”

“You know, I’d never seen you – um – like, fully naked before.”

“Hmm? Really?” Anne feigned disinterest, busied herself plaiting Ann’s hair in a loose braid, but Ann could feel her body tense behind her. 

“I don’t know why you made me wait,” Ann dared. She hoped her flirtatious tone would set Anne at ease, remind her she wasn’t under attack. Anne clicked her tongue. 

“I’m – well, I’m not always – um, I don’t have the right kind of body,” Anne spoke haltingly, as if she were finding each word individually as she pieced her thoughts together. “Too – uh – narrow, in places, and flat and hard – you know – when women should be – uh, soft, I guess. So I dress – um – a certain way, that I think – or I hope – works with this - hmm – shape. Which is why I’m a lot more – confident, I guess, is the word – more confident with my clothes on.” 

Anne pulled the hair tie from her wrist and wrapped it at the base of Ann’s braid, patted her on the shoulder, swallowed loudly. Ann knew it had been difficult for her to say those words.

“Thank you, Anne,” she took Anne’s hand over her shoulder, toying with her fingers, “I appreciate you telling me that. I have one more question.” Anne hummed. “Do you always wear black? Like, always always?” 

Anne laughed, but Ann tugged at her fingers to show her she wanted a serious answer. 

“Yes,” Anne said slowly, “I always wear black. When Mariana got married, I decided to mourn my loss as publicly and dramatically as possible. Now I’m just used to it. It’s all I own. Do you know the first day I ever wore all black I came to visit you? You were a teenager, I think –”

“Yes!” Ann interrupted, “I remember. I was 14. You were – you were here to see my parents, to pay a call for – I don’t know. All I could think about was how tall you were, and imposing, and stark and serious and handsome and –”

Anne’s hand grabbed Ann’s chin sharply, turning her head over her shoulder as Anne leaned down to kiss her soundly. Ann melted, the feeling of Anne’s strong body around her, her soft lips covering her own, her sharp teeth nipping at Ann’s bottom lip before she pulled away. They shared a heated look, and Ann wondered if she could survive another round of Anne’s fierce touch. But then Anne’s eyes turned soft, her lips turned up at the corners, and she released Ann’s chin. She flicked through the paperback and found where they’d left off. Soon Ann was sinking into the warm water, closing her eyes and reveling in Anne’s deep, velvety voice.

“The old woman stood on the side of the road and waved back until the car was out of sight,” Anne flicked her thumb to close the book one-handed. Anne’s free hand trailed lightly up and down Ann’s arm; she pressed a light kiss behind Ann’s ear. 

“So that was Idgie, right?” Ann asked, not remembering that part from the movie. 

“I think so. She was the bee charmer, you know.”

“It’s so sad,” Ann sighed. 

“Yes, but they had a full life together. And Idgie never changed herself for anybody, for anything. That’s pretty huge."

Ann turned slowly to face Anne, searching her sharp features, her bright eyes. She rested her hands on Anne’s shoulders and kissed her. Anne’s hands gripped lightly at her waist. She tilted her head, opening her mouth to Anne’s probing tongue. They held each other for a few long moments, just kissing. 

Anne pulled away first, her eyes twinkling. Ann felt her stomach twist; that look usually meant something filthy was coming her way. 

“What if we ordered a pizza?” 

Ann dropped her head and laughed. 

“Will they deliver to us? Aren’t we infected?”

“We’ll call up this local place, tell them to leave it on the porch,” Anne was standing, climbing out, sloshing water all over the floor. She picked up her phone, “we’ll leave some kind of massive tip. Small businesses need support right now, you know?” 

Ann smiled so widely her cheeks hurt as she watched Anne raise her phone to her ear. She seemed to have forgotten her nakedness, was now stretched to her full-Anne-Lister height, back straight and hand gesturing as she spoke.

“No, you see, we’re in isolation. Yes, if you’ll just leave it on the porch. You still have my card information, yeah?” Ann stepped out the bath, watching Anne as she spoke. She dried herself off, then started walking slowly to Anne. “Now listen, we wanted to leave a big tip, but cash is covered in germs, isn’t it?” Anne paused, nodding. “Do that. Yes, that’s perfect. Fine.” She hung up.

Ann wrapped her arms around Anne’s slick waist. She reveled in the feeling of Anne’s bare chest on hers. Anne dropped her hands to Ann’s back, tracing along her spine. Ann pressed a soft kiss to Anne’s sternum before pulling away. 

“How long do we have?” She whispered.

“Not long enough,” Anne swatted Ann’s bottom as she walked into the bedroom.

A half hour later, they were spread out on the faded patio furniture. Anne’s feet were propped up on the glass coffee table, Ann’s legs in her lap as she leaned against the arm of the loveseat they shared. Anne was relating how she knew the local pizzeria, something about a friend from university, but Ann could only focus on her stark profile, her sharp jawline, her long neck. 

“Of course, that was the first time I read Martial in the original, and – good Lord,” Anne was saying. Ann struggled to catch up. Damn. What had they been talking about?

“The original?” she asked weakly.

“In the Latin.”

“Oh,” Ann nodded, though she didn’t understand. 

“It’s filthy,” Anne clarified. “The worst poetry I’ve ever read. But I was totally obsessed with it.”

“Were you?” Ann dug her heels into Anne’s leg, scandalized. 

“I mean it was funny, too! There was one line – ‘of course he’ll never wed – what? And put his sister out of bed?’” Anne laughed, her grin widening as she squeezed Ann’s shins. Ann laughed too, more at the infectious warmth of Anne’s delight. “But mostly it was the worst filth you’ve ever seen. There’s this one – I don’t know if I should tell you.” 

“Anne! Come on. I don’t know if it can be dirtier than…” Ann trailed off and cast her eyes upstairs, silently invoking their afternoon activities, even as her cheeks reddened. Anne stuck her tongue in her cheek and regarded Ann, as if assessing her readiness. Suddenly, she was speaking, but Ann couldn’t understand. It was lyrical, but Ann didn’t know any of the words. Was Anne reciting Latin to her?

“Which roughly translates to,” Anne continued, “‘you shameless little tramp. You were an active fucker all the time.” 

Ann felt her jaw fall open, her cheeks redden. She wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t process what she’d heard. Perhaps it was the harsh language, or the lilting tone of Anne reciting Latin, or the pressure of her hands on Ann's calves, or some combination of the three. She sputtered, searching Anne’s face, now plastered with that self-satisfied grin. It was suddenly so very warm out there. 

“That is not true! Anne,” she pleaded, shaking her head. “They did not talk like that!”

“They absolutely did, Miss Walker,” Anne had that fiendish lilt in her voice; her hands were caressing Ann’s bare calves. “Some translations have it, ‘meanwhile you were fucking on the sly.’ Fututor basically means fucker,” Anne’s voice was low, rough, as she ran her short nails along Ann’s shins, “someone who fucks.”

Ann was suddenly very warm indeed. Anne’s eyes dared her forward for a long moment, before Ann broke, lurching forward and capturing that smug grin between her teeth. Ann straddled her, running her hands over Anne’s neck, along her shoulders, across her firm stomach. Anne groaned into the kiss, gripping at Ann’s thighs, her back, her ass. Ann felt that familiar warmth spread between her legs; she was already wet, frenzied, desperate. 

Anne’s hand drifted to the hem of her sundress, her knowing fingers slipping up her thigh to the seam of her panties on her hip. Distantly, Ann was aware that she was outside, on her back deck, in the waning daylight. Any qualms she felt about this disappeared when Anne’s long fingers dipped below the lace at her center. Ann gasped, burying her face in the crook of Anne’s shoulder; her hips moved almost of their own volition, starting a gentle, riding rhythm against Anne. Anne dipped into her wetness only lightly, her fingers moving up to focus on Ann’s clit. Ann bit Anne’s neck, just where it met her shoulder. Anne’s fingers moved more and more quickly; Ann couldn’t keep her hips from rutting frantically against her hand. Anne nipped at her ear, her jaw, her neck. Ann felt her release coil in her stomach, that familiar rush between her legs, until finally, finally –

“Anne,” she breathed as she shuddered over the older woman. Anne rubbed her back lightly as she caught her breath, removing her hand slowly and straightening Ann’s skirt. She kissed her cheek, wiping her fingers on her jeans. Ann swallowed and stood shakily. She held out her hand, which Anne took. 

“I guess now I know why you studied Classics,” Ann teased. 

“Ah, yes, the age-old move of dirty poetry. It never fails,” Anne winked as she stood. 

They gathered the remnants of their dinner, disposed of it, and mounted the stairs. Ann felt her desire for Anne growing as they undressed for bed. Usually Ann’s attention was so centered on her own desire, caught up in the perfect way Anne touched her that she didn’t spend much time thinking about Anne. She enjoyed pleasing Anne, watching her come undone, but she had never felt it so acutely before. She was overwhelmed by a desire to taste her, to feel her on her tongue, to possess Anne in this most intimate of ways. 

Which is why she plucked Anne’s phone from her hands, tossed it on the nightstand, and threw back the sheets before climbing into bed. Anne looked at her quizzically, but said nothing. Ann hooked her fingers in the waistband of her boxers, pulled them slowly down Anne’s legs. She caressed Anne’s ankles as she tugged each sock off her foot and threw them behind her. She toyed with the hem of Anne’s faded t-shirt until Anne nodded, at which point Ann gently pulled it over her head. She kissed Anne softly, nearly drunk on the taste of her lips alone. 

Ann kissed her chin, her sternum, her stomach, the apex of her thighs. Anne shifted her hips, spreading her legs so that Ann could settle between them. Ann laid on her belly, first admiring the sight before her – Anne Lister, spread bare and wanting. Anne bit her lip, meeting Ann’s eyeline. 

“You’re beautiful,” Ann whispered, kissing Anne’s hipbones. She heard Anne scoff helplessly above her. “You’re handsome and stunning and strong as well.” Ann ran her tongue along Anne’s inner thighs, “But I think you’re beautiful. And I think you haven’t heard that enough.” Anne hummed noncommittally, shifting her hips up in a less-than-subtle hint. “Ready for it, are you, Pony?” Anne nodded, her eyes wide, her lip caught between her teeth. “I recall you making me wait rather a long time this afternoon.” Anne groaned. “Perhaps it’s time you knew how that felt.”

Ann dipped her head to Anne’s core, ran her tongue through Anne’s arousal just once, before she drew back. Anne groaned, but Ann could only smirk as she moved to Anne’s legs. She kissed, licked, and nipped her way up one leg, gave Anne’s center another firm stroke, then started again with the other leg. Anne whimpered above her, her hips starting to rise from the mattress. Ann nipped at her hipbone, then traced her tongue over Anne’s firm abdominals. She kissed across Anne’s ribcage, up to her collarbone, along her neck. She met Anne’s lips in a sloppy, dirty kiss, all need and wetness and tongue. 

“Adney, please,” Anne panted when they parted. Ann kissed her once more, just lightly, before retracing her path down Anne’s body. 

Finally, she found herself back at Anne’s core, her arousal dripping to the sheet beneath. She stole one last look at Anne’s desperate, pleading face before dipping her head to take Anne’s clit between her lips. This, this moment was what Ann had been craving. The feeling of Anne in her mouth, her strong hands tangled in her hair, her thighs straining around her ears. Ann had to bring a hand to Anne’s hips to steady them as she lapped, stroked, and sucked. Anne’s hips shot up, breaking free from her grip as Ann felt the familiar rush of wetness that signaled Anne’s unravelling. Anne shuddered, holding Ann’s head to her core until, at last, she collapsed against the bed. 

Ann wiped her face on Anne’s thigh before making her way up to lay next to her. She watched Anne’s heaving chest slow, her eyes crack open. She made to pull the covers over them, but Anne grabbed her hand. She rolled over Ann, catching her lips in a fierce kiss, grinding her hips against Ann’s core. Ann had been content to go to sleep, more than sated, but now – she was powerless to resist. 

Anne pulled back briefly, tugging Ann’s sleeping shirt over her head, then dove back in. Still pressing deep, insistent kisses to Ann’s lips, she ran her hand down to Ann’s left knee, bending it to her chest. Ann spread her legs, feeling her arousal grow at the thought of what they were about to do. Anne shifted her legs, aligned their cores, and – they moaned in unison. For several long moments, they grinded against each other, their sharp gasps mingling in the fraction of space between their lips. Anne ran a hand over Ann’s breast, only briefly, before settling over her clit. 

It took almost nothing for Ann to feel her inner walls clench, her arousal to soak Anne’s hand, her core. Before she knew it, Ann was hurtling over the edge, no longer aware of anything but the feeling of Anne’s arousal mingling with her own, Anne’s fingers stroking her in perfect rhythm, Anne’s lips pressing a line along her jaw. Ann was still shuddering when she felt Anne’s release wash over her, her hips rutting against Ann, her teeth sinking into her neck. They trembled and seized together, until at last Anne fell onto her back, panting. 

Their labored breathing filled the room, and then Anne started to laugh. Ann rolled onto her side to face her. What could be funny? She ran her fingers up Anne’s arm, looking at her in disbelief. Anne turned to her, still laughing. 

“Do you have an extra set of sheets handy? I landed in the wet spot.” 

Ann rolled her eyes and crossed the room to her closet. She retrieved a fresh set of sheets, and together they remade the bed. She marveled at Anne’s nude body as they moved about the room. Just a few hours ago, she’d been hunched and awkward. Now she was confident, laughing and joking, without a stitch on her. Ann wasn’t sure she would ever understand the multitudes contained within Anne Lister, but she was glad she got to witness them. 

They slipped their pajamas back on, and Anne stepped across the hall for her journal (“you don’t mind, do you, darling?”). Ann watched her propped up in bed, scribbling furiously in the worn leather notebook perched on her knee. She occasionally looked over at Ann, gave her thigh a squeeze, kissed her nose. Ann liked watching her write, the way she bit her lip sometimes, silently mouthing words other times, getting ink on her hands as she fiddled with her pen. It was this image, of Anne with her journal, that filled Ann’s heart the most. It felt more intimate, more personal, than anything they’d done before. Maybe, finally, Anne was letting her guard down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent longer than I care to admit researching dirty Roman poetry. That section based on the entry 7/17/1824 where Anne is reading the poetry mentioned here and says "It is the filthiest and the worst book I have ever read ... unfit for any especially a woman." And then 5 days later she reads it to Mariana and says they are "both a good deal excited we jumped into bed leaving one candle burning." Classic Anne to be like "this is disgusting and vulgar" and then use it to get a little action. I think it seems a lot less scandalous to us today, but hey, if Anne Lister recited it to me? I would definitely be a good deal excited.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I so appreciate your comments, even if I'm terrible about replying to them. Like Anne, I'm shy but pretending I'm not. Y'all are the best.


	17. Sunday Morning

Anne woke to the scent of Ann’s shampoo, her blonde curls ticking her nose and lips. Anne smiled sleepily and nuzzled further into the pillow, pulling Ann more closely to her. Ann’s petite form molded perfectly to Anne’s; she nuzzled her nose into the back of Ann’s neck. The clock read 9:28 – when was the last time she had slept so late? Sod the walk, she thought, it wasn’t worth leaving this. Ann turned in her arms to face her; her eyes were still heavy with sleep as she caught Anne’s gaze and lifted her chin. Anne adored when she did this, and she was more than happy to grant Ann’s morning kiss. 

They kissed chastely once, then pulled back, before kissing again, more deeply. Ann rolled onto her back, bringing Anne with her. Anne settled on top of the younger woman, reveling in the taste of her soft lips, the press of her warm chest, the languid roll of her slim hips. They stayed like this for several long minutes, letting the morning stretch before them; the sense of urgency that usually pervaded their kisses was nowhere to be found. Anne was content to savor the fragile, exquisite decadence that was Ann Walker. Well, at least for a little while.

Anne kissed a steady path down Ann’s neck, lavishing her pale throat with wet kisses and soft bites. Ann’s hands tangled in her hair, slipped under her shirt, ran along her back and her arms and her neck. She travelled down Ann’s clavicle, tracing the sharp line of her collarbone with her tongue; she grinned against Ann’s skin at the sound of Ann’s quickening breath, her soft hums. She ran her hands up Ann’s thighs, forcing herself to go slowly, to be patient. Ann sat up and pulled her shirt over her head, her eyebrows raised. Anne chuckled – they were both a little impatient. Anne had just pressed her lips to Ann’s belly, when there was a knock at the door. 

Anne’s head shot up. She caught Ann’s eyes; the younger woman was panting lightly, her chest and neck still red from Anne’s attentions. They froze. Anne hoped whoever it was would think they were still asleep and leave them be. She knew the staff likely realized what was going on between her and Ann, was likely disinterested and more preoccupied by their sick peer and the global pandemic, but she still hated to be caught with her pants down. Or Ann’s pants down. As it were. 

“Miss Walker?” came James’s polite, formal voice. Ann looked at her, stricken. Anne cast her eyes meaningfully at the door. 

“Uh, yes?” Ann managed.

“There’s a Reverend Ainsworth at the door. He says he has come to bring you Communion. I told him we are under quarantine, but he insisted I ask you.”

“I’m not receiving visitors,” Ann called, scrambling for her shirt. Anne rushed to the closed door, sock-clad feet sliding on the hardwood. She cracked the door just enough to show James her face. He stepped back – in surprise? Social distancing? His face was impassive. 

“I shall speak with him. Leave him on the porch. I will be down in five minutes,” Anne said sharply before closing the door again. She heard his footsteps retreating.

“Anne,” Ann sighed, “I don’t think you should say anything to him.”

“The hell I’m not,” Anne was out the door, moving down the hallway to her room. Ann followed her, watching as she shucked her sweats and t-shirt. 

“I think he might be angry. If he found out I told someone,” Ann paused and bit her lip, “what went on.”

“Angry?” Anne pulled on black slacks.

“Embarrassed. Humiliated.”

“You did absolutely the right thing to tell me,” Anne paused as she buttoned her crisp black shirt, “what went on. And if that makes him angry, embarrassed, or humiliated – bad luck.”

“Anne,” Ann begged as Anne knelt to lace up her boots. 

“Look, my darling, I cannot begin to understand what this wretch did to you or the torment you have suffered. But you treat yourself unfairly – you judge yourself unfairly for it. I don’t want to embarrass you or upset you. But he can’t come round to bother you, to act like he has a right to see you, like he owns you. If you really don’t want me to go downstairs, I won’t.” She stood and gauged Ann’s reaction. She could feel her blood boiling, her fists clenching at the thought of this wretch on the front step, but she didn’t want to cause Ann further pain. 

Ann nodded, slowly, her eyes still on the floor. Anne took her cheek in her hand, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She bent her knees and searched Ann’s eyes once more – she nodded again, patting Anne’s shoulder, and casting her eyes toward the door, granting permission

Anne thundered down the hallway, retrieving the golf club from Ann’s room, before pounding down the stairs to the front door. On the porch, peeking in the window, was a squirrely man in his mid-30s – crooked teeth, clerical collar, thinning hair. He held a small black box in one hand, a Book of Common Prayer in the other. Sorry excuse for a priest, Anne surmised, even worse excuse for a man. 

She flung the door open and pressed the handle of the golf club against Ainsworth’s chest, the club head clenched firmly in her fist. She stepped forward slowly, driving him backward. His eyes widened in fear as he stumbled backward, away from the open door. Anne looked up at him, searching his smarmy face.

“We’re under quarantine, Mr. Ainsworth, best to stay at least a meter away.”

“Anne Lister? What are you doing here?”

“You’d better go.” Anne said sternly.

“I’d like to see Miss Walker. I’ve brought –”

“I understand what you’ve brought. I want you to leave.”

“Is Miss Walker in? Is she ill?”

“Mr. Ainsworth,” Anne kept her voice under control, even as her knuckles turned white around the club. “Miss Walker has shared with me some things about you that – well, she has been rather explicit. With me. About what went on between the two of you. What you did to her. And knowing the circumstances – as I do – I hope you appreciate the propriety and necessity of abstaining from any further contact with her.”

Anne could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to parse her meaning, until – realization dawned over his face. He exhaled shakily, his eyes wide. 

“No, no, what you need to understand –”

“What you need to understand,” Anne thumped his chest with the club, “is that I can expose you. I can ruin your life and your marriage and your career. And if you don’t leave Miss Walker alone, I will. It would be easy for me.”

“Alright, alright,” he raised his arms in surrender, “now the thing you must appreciate is that there is always more than one side to such a –” 

“No.” A voice came from behind Anne. There, in the doorway, stood Ann Walker, her yellow sundress flapping in the wind, her hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, her back resolutely straight. Anne was momentarily struck dumb at the sight of her; she was sunlight personified – warm, strong, persistent. She walked slowly to them. “Not in this case, Mr. Ainsworth. You took advantage of me. You inflicted yourself –”

“No –” Ainsworth interrupted.

“Yes.” Anne growled, pressing the club more firmly into his chest.

“You inflicted yourself on me.” Ann continued, her voice as strong as Anne had ever heard it. “You repeatedly, calculatedly preyed on my insecurities, until I believed I deserved it. Do not tell me I was complicit in it.”

Silence hung heavily between them. Anne’s eyes flitted between Ann, so brave it almost broke her heart, and Ainsworth, his fearful eyes bordering on defiance. 

“You wanted it more than I did,” Ainsworth snarled.

Anne hadn’t intended to punch him. Really and truly, she was not an advocate for violence. And she didn’t want to expose herself to whatever germs he was carrying. She had brought the club to force herself to keep her distance; she’d told herself he wasn’t worth knocking down. But suddenly he was sprawled on his back, and her hand was incredibly sore. She tightened her grip on the club and pressed the handle under his chin.

“I am warning you. Appreciate the propriety and necessity of neither Miss Walker nor myself hearing anything from you in this world ever again. And I trust,” she flipped his Book of Common Prayer with her foot, “we have no reason to fear bumping into you in the next.”

Anne held his gaze for a long moment; her hand still smarted, but she ignored it. Ainsworth nodded, then scrambled upright. He gathered his box and book from the dirt, then turned on his heel. As she watched him go, she felt a small arm wrap around her waist, Ann’s head lean against her shoulder. She placed a light kiss on the crown of her head, tilted her neck to rest her cheek on the top of Ann’s head. 

The couple walked slowly back inside. Anne washed her hands vigorously, wiped the golf club down with Clorox, then turned to face Ann. This small, shy woman who had rocked her world so thoroughly. Who surprised her daily – hourly. Who was more courageous than Anne, for all her big talk and stern looks, could ever hope to be. Who was now giving Anne that impish look, biting her lip and repressing a smile. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Anne broke the silence. It was not often Anne was speechless, but she struggled to find the right words in this moment. She longed to extoll Ann’s virtues, to capture her bravery, to express how very impressive she was. But she came up short. So she repeated herself and took Ann in her arms, “I’m so proud of you.”

Ann wrapped her arms around Anne’s broad back, her hands fisting in her shirt. She clutched at Anne, burying her face in Anne’s chest as Anne ran her hand over the back of her head, through her silky hair. Anne wondered if she would cry, if this was too much for her, if she had finally pushed Ann over the edge. She wasn’t sure what she would do if that was the case, so she just held Ann and kissed the crown of her head. 

“Thank you,” Ann whispered into her shirt, so faint Anne almost didn’t hear her. 

“It was all you, Adney. You did that all by yourself.”

“When I’m with you, I feel like I could take on the world.”

“You don’t need me for that,” Anne chuckled; “you did perfectly well on your own.”

“I’m serious,” Ann pulled back just enough to look into her eyes; “a week ago I would not have been able to do that.”

Anne wanted to contradict her, argue that Ann’s strength had been within her all along, remind Ann that she’d had been through years of extensive therapy to reach that exact moment. But she didn’t. She just shook her head and let them sway in each other’s arms, in this sunny kitchen, on this Sunday morning. She said a silent prayer of gratitude for the paths that had brought them here, despite the difficulty, the thorns, the heartache. 

“And you know,” Ann whispered, “I found you extremely attractive out there.”

“Oh yeah?” Anne couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face. 

“It was very hot,” Ann looked up at her, that mischievous smile returning. 

Anne stuck her tongue in her check and raised her eyebrows. She snaked a hand down over Ann’s ass, squeezed lightly, pulled Ann’s hips firmly into her. She felt the warm spread of desire invade her body. 

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh,” Ann whispered, catching Anne’s lips in a series of wet, dirty kisses. She nipped lightly at Anne’s lip, her jaw, her neck, but then pulled away, disentangling herself from Anne’s embrace. Anne exhaled sharply at the loss. “But I have a call at noon. I talk to my therapist on Sundays. Over Skype. It’s just easier, and I feel – I mean I feel like I definitely need it today, you know?”

Anne nodded, trying to still her racing heart. Ann gave her one last teasing kiss before leaving the room. She ran a hand through her hair and looked around the room. Dishes in the sink. Crumbs on the counter. Right. She could clean the kitchen. Scrub the floors. Wash the windows. Anything. She had to work off this energy somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do we think? Good chapter or bad? Changes from the show that work or not so much? Shut up and post some smut?
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments are much appreciated.


	18. Sunday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Sunday night entertainment for all of us cooped up right now. Stay home and stay healthy with the Ann(e)s.

Ann ended the Skype call and exhaled. She didn’t always feel better after therapy, but today she did. Confronting Ainsworth had been cathartic. She realized now she had been building up to this moment for years, that her courage was hard-won. Of course having Anne Lister at her side didn’t hurt, firmly pressing the blunt end of a golf club into Ainsworth’s slimy chest. Ann felt tingly just thinking about it.

She turned her attention back to her shopping cart. Was she really doing this? Would Anne be offended? Was it too forward? What was the etiquette with these things? She hoped she’d picked the right one. She tilted her head as she studied the screen, read the reviews once more, tried to imagine what it would be like in person. Just do it, she told herself. She clicked “purchase” - 2 weeks for delivery? That wouldn’t do. Next day shipping – Ann considered. It being the weekend, the earliest it would arrive was Tuesday midday. The price for rush shipping was exorbitant, but – oh to hell with it. What was the point of having money if not to spend it?

She closed her laptop and considered. Would Anne want some time alone? Surely she was busy, had hobbies, something better to do than – no, Ann thought. Don’t do that. She had spent the last 10 minutes of her session on negative self-talk. No, she thought, I’ll go find her. 

Easier said than done. Not in the living room. Not in the library. Not in the kitchen (which seemed remarkably clean). Not in Ann’s bedroom. Not in the bedroom that held Anne’s belongings. Finally, Ann opened the door to the TV room. 

Anne Lister was sprawled on the couch, her back flat against the seat, one leg bent at the knee and pointing straight up, the other lying flat, bent toward the other so her feet crossed. Anne held a thin paperback over her head, eyes trained on the page. She held a pen between her teeth; it jostled slightly in the air as Anne’s jaw twitched. Ann watched her take the pen from her mouth, underline a section, then return it between her teeth. Something about her white teeth, her legs splayed so openly, her serious concentration – Ann felt suddenly desperate for her. 

“Hi, darling,” Anne said, still reading. 

“Hi,” Ann closed the door and leaned against the back of it. Anne turned the page. 

“How was therapy?” Anne asked as she underlined a section.

“Good,” Ann slipped off her shoes.

“That’s good,” Anne returned to chewing her pen. 

“How is your book?” Ann pulled her dress over her head. 

“Excellent,” Anne underlined another section.

“Really?” Ann unclasped her bra and let it drift to the floor next to her dress.

“Yes, let me find –” Anne flicked through the pages, “here – ‘autonomy is the idea of being free to determine one’s own life within a wider obligation to others.’ That’s lovely isn’t it? Eloquent. Very precise writing.”

“Anne?” Ann sent her panties to the floor.

“Hmm?” Anne marked her place, then turned her head. She exhaled sharply, her jaw falling open, her eyes wide. Ann raised her eyebrows and shrugged. 

Anne shot to her feet, crossing the small room in two paces, lifting Ann into her arms and backing her roughly against the wall. Ann gasped at this show of strength, closing her eyes to enjoy the feeling of Anne’s strong arms, the rough material of Anne’s shirt pressing against her chest, between her legs. Anne kissed, sucked, and bit her neck; Ann grasped at Anne’s back, throwing her head back as a soft moan escaped her. 

Anne lavished her neck, collarbone, jawline with attention, all the while pressing her hips firmly between Ann’s legs. Anne’s every touch sent jolts of electricity straight to her core. She dipped her head to take Ann’s breast between her lips, her tongue circling her nipple before her teeth nipped lightly. Ann gasped, tangling her hands in Anne’s hair, holding her impossibly closer. Anne pulled back a fraction, then descended on her other breast. 

How could her body survive the way Anne gripped her thighs, the way she rolled her hips slowly and evenly, the way she dragged her teeth over Ann’s overheated skin? Nobody could ask her to control herself when Anne kissed her like she wanted to devour her whole. Certainly no one would expect her to stifle her laughter when Anne lowered her gently to the soft carpet. She couldn’t help biting her lip when Anne knelt over her, couldn’t stop her hands from untucking that starched black shirt and tugging each button free from its constraints. And so of course she was unable to resist the temptation to drag her tongue over Anne’s firm abdomen. 

Anne gave a gasping chuckle at the touch, which only made Ann’s center burn hotter. Ann nipped at the strap of Anne’s sports bra as she brought her hands to Anne’s waistband. She flicked open the button, slid down the zipper, tugged at the sides until Anne, laughing, stood to shake them off. Ann swallowed dryly at the sight of Anne’s long, lithe body over her: the confident thrust of her hips, the fiendish glint in her eye, the determined set of her jaw. Ann felt a fresh wave of desire course through her, which Anne must have noticed, based on that smug grin.

Ann laughed as Anne descended on her with a growl, burying her face in Ann’s neck. Ann wrapped her arms around Anne’s back, her legs around her hips; Anne pressed kisses behind her ear, dipped her hand to cover Ann’s breast, rolled her hips slowly and firmly between Ann’s legs. Ann heard her own high-pitched moans as she caught Anne’s rhythm; her breathy cries sounded faraway. She dug her fingernails into Anne’s back, arching her neck and pressing her head back into the carpet. She couldn’t stand it, wanting Anne this much; she was on fire, she was breathless, she was electric. 

Finally, Anne’s hand slipped between her legs, circling her entrance lightly. The slick sound of Anne’s fingers moving through her wetness mixed with Ann’s soft moans, filling the room with the desperation building within Ann. Anne hummed lightly against her neck, before pulling back to catch Ann’s eye as she thrust into her. Ann’s eyes slammed shut. She was no longer a person, just a loose connection of live wires that Anne connected in perfect harmony. Her lips on Ann’s, her hand at Ann’s core, her strong back beneath Ann’s fingers. Every sensation led Ann higher; every time Anne touched her, Ann’s entire body felt on the brink of total collapse. Until finally, finally – 

“Yes, yes, Anne!” She felt her inner walls contract, her body buffeted by waves of pleasure. Anne slowed her hand by increments, until she pulled it away completely. Ann let her arms and legs fall to the floor, her chest still heaving as she opened her eyes. Anne smiled over her, dipped her head to kiss her slowly, then rolled onto her side next to Ann. 

“You are so beautiful when you come undone, do you know that?” Anne whispered. Ann shook her head, rolling her eyes. “You are. It just makes me want to watch you over and over.”

Anne traced her finger down Ann’s nose, then over her lips. Ann opened her mouth, traced her tongue over Anne’s finger, sucked lightly. She could taste herself on Anne’s hand, and that realization sent a fresh wave of arousal through her. Anne traced her fingers over Ann’s breasts, massaging and pulling and twisting; Ann was breathless again, arching her back into Anne’s touch. Anne placed a soft kiss to Ann’s shoulder before drifting lower, running her long fingers over Ann’s hips, her soft belly, her inner thighs. Ann squirmed and lifted her hips in a less-than-subtle hint. 

Anne chuckled and dipped her head to catch Ann’s lips. She eased her finger between Ann’s folds, her lips never faltering. Ann broke the kiss, finally, when Anne started a steady rhythm. Slowly, Anne eased a second finger in with the first, and Ann’s arm shot out to grip her forearm. Anne chuckled, but kept moving. Ann let her eyes slip closed. 

“You feel so good,” Anne purred in her ear; “I love the way you close your eyes in concentration, the way your nails dig into my arm, the way you move your hips when you’re getting impatient.” Ann was doing just that, thrusting more quickly against Anne’s hand. Anne chuckled. “That’s right, you’re close, aren’t you? You’re so perfect like this, so eager and ready and wet. I love everything about you.” Ann whimpered, her brain too distracted by Anne’s skilled fingers to process her words properly. “There’s no one else for me, Adney. You’re it. You’re –”

Ann hurtled over the edge, drowning in Anne’s expert touches and silky voice. She held onto Anne’s arm more firmly as she shuddered and gasped, never wanting the moment to end. Finally her body slackened, and she released Anne’s arm. She opened her eyes to find Anne propped on an elbow over her, her hand in her boxers. Shameless.  
“Anne,” she laughed. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” Anne panted, “that’s – uh, that’s –” 

She showed no signs of stopping, so Ann rolled over her, forcing Anne onto her back. She kissed Anne teasingly, then slipped her hand down her toned stomach and below her boxers. Anne’s hand stilled as Ann covered it. Ann bit Anne’s lip and tugged, and Anne understood. She withdrew her hand, bringing it up to tangle in Ann’s hair as she stroked her clit. Ann savored the feeling of Anne’s arousal, the firm bud peeking out insistently, the damp moisture caught in Anne’s boxers. 

“I have wanted to fuck you all day,” Ann whispered. Anne groaned, her hips rolling more urgently. “I have never seen anything as sexy as you this morning.” Anne made a choking sound deep in her throat before pulling Ann down by the neck and crashing their lips together. They kissed sloppily as Ann’s hand sped up, spurred on by Anne’s frenzied hips. Anne tore her lips from Ann’s as she arched into the carpet, her hips frozen midair, her breath coming in short gasps. 

Anne brought a hand to her chest as she caught her breath, but Ann had no time to waste. She needed to taste Anne as quickly as possible. She ripped the boxers from her still-raised hips, diving between Anne’s bent legs. She ran her tongue insistently along her core – but Anne grabbed her head. 

“Hold on, baby, gentle now,” Anne whispered. Ann nodded, embarrassed by her desperation. She took a deep breath, then kissed Anne’s hipbone softly. Anne hummed. She kissed the other one. Another hum. Ann settled on her belly on the floor; it was a rather odd sensation, her bare body pressed against the carpet. She ran her hands under Anne’s legs, stroking at the crease where torso met thigh. She started with feather-light kisses along Anne’s inner thighs, inching closer to her core. Soon enough, Anne was tugging at her hair gently, trying to move Ann along. Ann found she liked it, but filed that thought away for later. 

She brought her tongue – gently – over Anne’s wet center. She was rewarded with a lift of the hips and a soft moan. Ann grinned; she loved pulling these unguarded sounds from oh-so-composed Dr. Lister. She lapped at Anne’s center for a few long moments, until Anne was again tugging at her hair, bringing her higher. This time, she relented. She took Anne’s clit in her mouth, flicking her tongue over it lightly, gradually adding pressure. Anne was panting, her fingers locking Ann’s head in place; she shuddered for an eternity, her hips frozen against Ann’s face, gasping moans escaping her lips. She released Ann’s head, then slackened. 

Ann pulled back and sat up on her knees, a satisfied smirk pulling at her lips. Anne sat up slowly, breathing heavily through her mouth. She kissed Ann, then, tasting herself, ran her tongue in Ann’s mouth, along her cheeks. Ann sighed into the kisses, allowing Anne’s strong hands to pull her forward onto her lap. Anne looked at her seriously, then booped her nose. Ann laughed. 

“I haven’t come that hard in years,” Anne whispered, almost as if she didn’t believe it herself. Ann rolled her eyes, shook her head. “Something about you, Miss Walker, absolutely unhinges me.”

Ann gulped at the sincerity in her voice, the searching look in her eyes. What was she meant to say? She licked her lips, trying to find the right answer. Anne kissed her, cutting off all coherent thought. Anne Lister was truly the master at this. Her lips were soft, but she could make them firm. She tilted her head at just the right angle. Never too much tongue. Teeth only sparingly. She cradled Ann’s head like it might break. Ann felt herself melting into her. 

Anne brought her hands up to cup Ann’s breasts, massaging them gently, rolling her nipples between her fingers. Ann broke the kiss to catch her breath, but the fire in Anne’s eyes stole it away again. She looked positively feral, as she slid a hand down to cup Ann’s center, then to thrust into her sharply. Ann dropped her head to Anne’s shoulder, crying out softly at the intrusion. Anne’s thumb circled her clit as she started an even rhythm. Ann brought her hands to Anne’s shoulders, lifting up on her knees to match Anne’s thrusts. Anne slipped a second finger in with the first, then brought her free hand down to squeeze Ann’s ass. Soon she was riding Anne’s hand roughly, feeling that familiar warmth coiling in her stomach. Anne trailed open-mouthed kisses along her neck Ann felt her core stretch as Anne slipped a third finger in and stroked her clit more insistently. Her thighs cried out, but she bounced more forcefully, more quickly. She was so close, she was almost there, she was – gone. Ann shuddered violently into Anne as wave after wave crashed into her. It was so good, it was perfect, it was too perfect - 

Suddenly, she was on her back. Anne stood over her, redressed and typing on her phone. 

“Hello,” Anne purred when she opened her eyes. 

“What – how did –?” 

“You passed out, darling. Which is very flattering,” she had that smug grin on again. “So I’ve decided to order Thai. It should be here in,” Anne checked her watch, “about twenty-five minutes.”

“Oh my God,” Ann sat up slowly. “How long was I, uh, out?” The idea of being unconscious made Ann nervous. 

“Not long. Two minutes and twenty-eight seconds.”

Ann chuckled at Anne’s precision. 

“You did all of this in two minutes and twenty-eight seconds?”

“I’m very efficient,” Anne winked, helping Ann to her feet. Ann shivered; she wasn’t sure if the chill came from the cold room or Anne’s warm fingers tracing up her spine. Again? Already? Good Lord. 

“Do you ever think we shag too much?” Ann threw her crumpled dress over her head, gathered her panties, bra, and shoes in her hands. 

“No,” Anne’s eyes widened. “Do you?”

She looked so stricken Ann burst out laughing. She padded own the hall, Anne close at her heels.

“Do you?” Anne’s voice was anxious, her head bobbing trying to catch Ann’s eye. 

“No, Pony,” Ann laughed, “no, of course not. I’m going to hop in the shower” Anne stepped toward her, her eyes sparkling with that devious glint. Ann shook her head and put her hand on Anne’s chest. “Alone. And then we’ll eat.”

Anne sighed and nodded. Ann watched her agile body lope down the hall, her long legs, the graceful curve of her shoulders, the self-assured inclination of her back. She licked her lips as Anne ran her slender fingers through her thick hair, then smiled to herself. No, they definitely did not shag too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for your generous, thoughtful, and kind comments! They mean the world to me.


	19. Sunday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feelings? in my smut? it's more likely than you think

Anne watched Ann bite her lip, squint her eyes, scratch her charcoal lightly across the paper. They had settled on either side of the living room sofa after they ate, Anne with her book and Ann with her sketchpad. A companionable silence stretched between them for exactly one hour and six minutes. In the sixty-eighth minute, Anne looked up. The picture before her caused her to lose all focus. Ann’s brow was furrowed in concentration. She was wearing a threadbare t-shirt and the skimpiest cotton shorts Anne had ever seen; Anne had started salivating at the sight of her before dinner, but she’d made herself wait. Did they shag too much? Ann’s words reverberated in her mind. Ann looked up occasionally, smiling softly at her, but then returning to her work. It was driving Anne crazy. 

Her hands itched to reach out for Ann, to wrap her up in her arms and press her onto her back. But she was practicing patience. Even as Ann dragged her eyes up Anne’s legs, over her torso, lingering on her face, Anne remained still. She resisted the temptation to grab Ann’s ankles, pull the girl onto her lap, deliver her shaking and screaming over the edge. She tamped down the urge to sink to her knees and take Ann in her mouth until she cried Anne’s name over and over. No, Anne was practicing patience. 

After fourteen minutes of such torture, Ann held out the paper to her. She looked a little nervous, both anxious for and afraid of Anne’s reaction. Anne took the paper – it was her. Leaned back against the sofa. Book resting on her chest. Her long legs stretched before her, interwoven with Ann’s shorter, softer ones. Ann had rendered her more accessible, more tender than any photo Anne had ever seen of herself. Usually Anne felt she looked imposing, mannish, harsh. But not here. Her jaw was still strong, the tendons in her arms still visible, the glint in her eye still bright, but Ann had captured something else. Something warm in the fold of her hands and the turn of her lips that caught Anne’s breath. Was this how she saw her?

Anne looked up to meet Ann’s tentative gaze. A moment passed before either spoke, then, at once:

“I love you.”  
“It’s nothing.”

They both let out that exhale-chuckle of the surprised. Anne bit the inside of her cheek. Would she be able to say it again?

“What’d you say?” Ann whispered, a smile playing at her lips.

“I love you,” Anne said, feeling as if she’d just jumped off a cliff. 

Ann grinned widely and lurched forward, kissing Anne soundly. She climbed into Anne’s lap, her knees bracketing Anne’s hips, her hands wrapping around Anne’s neck. Anne ran her hands up Ann’s back, pulling the younger woman flush to her. She needed to feel Ann as closely as possible, wanted to crawl into her skin and set up home in her chest. She couldn’t make sense of the emotions swirling around her body – confusion in her head, warmth in her chest, arousal in her gut. All she knew was she needed Ann. Right now.

Anne stumbled up the stairs with Ann in her arms, her head still swimming, even as she pressed Ann into the wall along the stairs, nipped at her throat in the hall, stole the breath from her lungs as she kicked the bedroom door closed. She grinned as Ann bounced on the mattress, ran her fingers through Ann’s hair as she unbuttoned Anne’s pants, growled lowly as Ann pushed them to the ground. Ann was toying with the buttons at the base of her shirt, staring up at her with that mischievous grin. And it was hot, it was perfect, it was everything Anne had ever wanted. So why did she feel tears welling in her eyes, one escaping down her cheek?

Ann froze, her charcoal-stained hands still wrapped in the tails of Anne’s half-opened shirt. 

“Anne?”

Anne inhaled shakily. She could do this; she could just handle this and move on. She didn’t need to examine her emotions. She needed to hold Ann. That’s all she needed. If she could just be with Ann, she would be back on steady ground. She could focus on Ann, on Ann’s body and needs and moans, and she wouldn’t have to think about anything. She shook her head, then leaned down to kiss Ann. Who pulled away. Who pulled away? 

“Anne!” Ann implored, placing her small hand on Anne’s chest. Her eyes were so blue, so sincere, Anne felt choked. She sat down heavily on the bed and sorted her thoughts for a long moment before deciding what to say.

“Do you know I asked Mariana once if she would have me changed? Have me different? We were fighting, and – someone had seen me, with my short, ‘90s hair and men’s suit, and they’d thought I was a man. And it embarrassed her. Not that she would have minded if I really were a man. She might have preferred it. But I was too masculine, too butch, uh, for her, and I asked if she would rather I be different than I am.” Anne dared a look at Ann, but it was too much. She trained her eyes on the floor again. “And she said yes. She would rather I be feminine and – and all the things I’m not. And that kind of – well, it didn’t feel good.” Anne chuckled bitterly. “Every day – every day – I rise above that. The things people say. I walk into a room, or down a street, and I see the way people look at me. And the things they say. And I rise above it. I’ve trained myself not to see it or hear it.” Anne swallowed dryly. “And I thought it was impossible for someone else to accept that. That I’m – not conventional. That I don’t act or dress or talk the way people think a woman should. I can’t. I won’t. And then you come along. And you just – you don’t seem to mind at all.”

Ann placed a soft kiss to Anne’s cheek, ran her fingers lightly over the back of Anne’s neck. Under Ann’s gentle gaze and light touch, she felt decades of tension release, years of anxiety that had coiled in her stomach unwind, a whole lifetime’s worth of criticism lose its power. Anne had long ago accepted her own oddities, but the revelation that someone else could? She had thought it as impossible as airborne swine. 

“That bloody picture,” Anne laughed. “It’s gorgeous. Is that really how you see me?”

Ann nodded. 

“I love you.” Anne whispered. The haze lifted. She was in love. With Ann Walker. Who loved her back. That’s all she needed to know. Forget the rest. Forget the outside world – it was all going to hell anyway. She couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face, or her hands from tangling in that perfect blonde silk as she pulled Ann’s lips to her own. 

Ann finished unbuttoning Anne’s shirt and pushed it over her shoulders. Anne let it slide to the floor before leaning Ann back, crawling over her. Her hands glided along Ann’s stomach, under her shirt, revealing the creamy skin beneath. Anne dragged her tongue along every exposed inch. She bunched Ann’s shirt up over her breasts, took one between her lips, relished the feeling of Ann’s hand on the back of her head. Ann’s other hand massaged her own breast; Anne’s eyes nearly rolled back in her head at the sight. 

“Please, Pony,” Ann whispered thickly. Anne pulled Ann's shirt over her head, then sat back on her heels, taking Ann lightly by the ankles and spreading her legs. Ann propped herself on her elbows, watching her. It was then that Anne noticed the dark grey streaks along Ann’s breast; the charcoal on her hand had rubbed off. The sight was surprisingly and intensely erotic. Ann followed her eyeline, then bit her lip and raised her eyebrows. 

“Miss Walker,” Anne purred, “you dirty girl.” She took Ann’s wrists and pinned them above her head. Ann sank into the touch, arching her back to press her chest against Anne’s. Anne kissed her fiercely as she grinded between Ann’s spread legs; Ann brought her legs to wrap around her hips, crossing her ankles over Anne’s lower back. 

This was a moment Anne always adored, the feeling of a woman below her, in her hands, wrapped all around her. And yet, as she dipped her hand between Ann’s legs, as she slid into Ann's clutching depths, as she felt the hard nub of Ann’s desire under her thumb, Anne knew it wasn’t just the feeling of a woman that she so enjoyed. It was Ann. Ann’s slender wrists caught in her strong grip. Ann’s high-pitched moans filling her ears. Ann’s lips straining for a taste of her. Ann. Ann. Ann.

“Yes, Pony,” Ann whimpered as her hips gained speed, and Anne realized she’d been chanting her name aloud. She thrust more quickly, more insistently, Ann’s name tumbling from her lips in a desperate prayer. Ann’s back arched, her inner walls clenched, her jaw fell open in a silent cry. Anne kissed her neck lightly as she shuddered, slowly eased out of her as her hips lowered to the mattress. 

She released Ann’s wrists and sat back, enjoying the sight of Ann catching her breath before her. Ann reached up to cup Anne’s cheek, bring her down for a gentle kiss. She trailed a line of hot kisses along Anne’s jawline, down her neck, to her collarbone, tracing her fingers lightly along Anne’s stomach, over her hip. Anne allowed herself to sink into the embrace, to focus only on the sensation of Ann’s touch on her flesh. She closed her eyes, stretching her neck to allow Ann better access. 

Then Ann flipped her over. Anne sputtered laughter in surprise, eyes wide at the image of a nude Ann Walker perched across her hips. Ann rolled her hips against Anne once before dipping to recapture Anne’s lips, then return to her journey down Anne’s body. Her kisses were tiny fires, igniting Anne’s skin, just for a moment, only to be relit somewhere else. Her hands, cool and smooth, ran over Anne’s hips, under her knees, spreading her legs as Ann settled between them. Ann’s hair tickled her inner thighs, and she kept shaking her head to move it out of her way. Anne gathered the blonde curls in her hands, formed a loose ponytail with her hands, was about to tie it off when Ann’s tongue connected with her core. 

If Ann’s kisses before had been tiny fires, this was an inferno. The kind that destroyed towns and farmland and lives. Perhaps it was the relief from acknowledging her feelings aloud. Perhaps it was the extensive practice Ann had had over the last week. Perhaps it was just a gift from a kind and loving God. No matter what, Anne felt herself approaching the precipice with alarming speed. Ann lapped at her core; her head bobbed under Anne’s hands, still clutching her hair behind her head. Anne gave it a light tug as she lifted her hips, desperate for Ann to take her clit between her lips. Ann moaned, the reverberations echoing across Anne’s center. She gave another tug. Another moan. She looked down and found Ann’s eyes trained on her own, even as her tongue moved tirelessly. Anne started to grind gently into Anne’s mouth, tugging at her hair in rhythm. 

For a few moments, it was bliss. Anne felt that coiling in her stomach, the heat spreading across her body, her jaw frozen open. And then Ann’s hands gripped her thighs, forced her hips down the mattress, held her in place. Anne let out a frustrated groan; she had been so close. But the new angle was better, the feeling of Ann’s small hands was sublime, the ferocity of Ann’s lips on her clit was devastating. She tumbled over the edge, her back arching into the mattress, her thighs clamping around Ann’s head. 

She opened her eyes to see Ann crawling back up the bed to nestle next to her in the pillows, her back against the headboard. Anne sat up and kissed her, moaning lightly at the taste of herself on Ann’s lips. She tangled her hands in that perfect hair, and then she remembered. She had been rather rough with Ann’s poor scalp, hadn’t she?

“Did I hurt you?” she whispered, her fingers still running through Ann’s curls.

“No. I liked it.” Ann whispered back before catching Anne’s lips in a teasing kiss. 

“Come here,” Anne spread her legs wide and motioned for Ann to sit between them. Ann did, leaning her back against Anne’s chest. The sensation of their bare bodies pressed together like this made Anne dizzy. She kissed Ann once, twice, three times, four times, before nudging her shoulder forward to separate their torsos a bit. She ran her hands through Ann’s hair again, separating it into three thick strands. She started to braid it loosely, massaging Ann’s scalp with every pass. Ann sighed into the touch.

“Do you know what I’d like to do? I’d like to take you to Paris,” she whispered in Ann’s ear. “I’d take you to Paris and Rome and Switzerland and Russia and America and Brazil and anywhere else you’d like to go. I’d like to show the sights, kiss you under the Eiffel Tower and in a gondola and on a mountaintop.” Ann nodded mutely, her eyes drifting closed. That would never do; Anne needed her to perk back up. “I’d like to fuck you on all seven continents.” Ann inhaled sharply through her nose. Ah, Anne thought, there it is. “You asked me if I think we shag too much, and I can only hope you don’t think so. Because I,” Anne tied off the braid and brought her hands to Ann’s breasts, “cannot get enough of you, Adney.”

She massaged Ann’s breasts, reveling in the weight of them in her hands, the tight peaks of her nipples below her palms. She drifted her right hand down Ann’s stomach, grinning in satisfaction at the shiver that passed through Ann’s body at the touch. She slipped her hand between Ann’s legs; twin moans filled the room. 

“I can’t get enough of you, Adney,” Anne repeated as she ran her finger through Ann’s arousal. “I need you all the time. I need to hold you and touch you and,” she paused as she slid into Ann’s warm center, “love you every day. I want to wake up with you and fall asleep with you.” Their hips started an even rhythm to match Anne’s hand; Ann’s head fell back against Anne’s shoulder as she added a second finger. “I want to travel with you and argue with you and eat every meal with you. I want to wear your ring and for you to wear mine. I want to know you as well as I know myself, and I want you to know me just the same. I mean it. I want all of it.”

Ann was panting in earnest now, her head nodding furiously, her fingernails digging into Anne’s thighs, her hips rutting frantically against Anne’s hand. Anne pressed more firmly against her clit, curling her fingers as she nipped at Ann’s earlobe, her neck, her shoulder. She felt Ann’s wall clench, those perfect, affirmative gasps escaping her as she trembled in Anne’s arms. Anne kissed her lightly behind her ear as she slowed and finally stilled her hand. 

She rolled Ann onto her pillow and slipped out of bed. Ann’s hand caught her wrist, her chest still heaving. 

“Don’t go,” Ann whispered, confusion clouding her tired eyes. Anne smiled and bent to kiss her lips softly. 

“I’m getting fresh pajamas. And my journal. Won’t be two ticks.”

“Bring that stupid suitcase in here,” Ann sighed as she pulled the sheets over her and snuggled into the pillow. Anne nodded and eased out the door.

She dashed down the hall, still naked, and snatched her suitcase. When she returned, Ann was already asleep, snoring lightly. Anne rolled her eyes and pulled out her toiletry bag. It wasn’t until she was brushing her teeth in front of the mirror that she saw the remnants of their lovemaking on her body. Ann had left streaks of charcoal all over her – along her chest, down her stomach, across her thighs. She could scrub them off easily enough in the shower, but not tonight. Anne wanted to fall asleep covered in these markers of Ann’s love, the residual stains of Ann’s commitment. 

As she slipped into bed and wrapped her arms around Ann's middle, Anne knew she needed something more formal, more solemn, more permanent than charcoal stains to bind them. The small box from York should arrive in tomorrow's post, maybe Tuesday's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I live for your feedback. Y'all are so funny on that last chapter - thank you!


	20. Monday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff and the all-important Define The Relationship talk

Ann woke in increments – first the too-hot covers wrapped around her, then the soft streaming sound of the shower, then, opening her eyes, the stretch of empty bed next to her. She threw the covers back, rolling over to face the ceiling. Not an entirely unpleasant way to start the day. It would be better with Anne beside her, but based on the sunlight streaming brightly through the window, it was too late in the morning for that. She reflected on the night previous – Anne saying she loved her, Anne wanting to travel with her, Anne’s hands and lips and thighs. Warmth suffused her still-nude body. She bit her lip as she sunk further into the sheets, her mind racing with images of their future.

The bathroom door swung open, and Anne appeared in the doorway, boxer-clad and tugging a t-shirt over her head. Ann watched wistfully as Anne’s toned stomach disappeared under the cotton, as Anne bent double and toweled her wet hair, as Anne straightened and caught Ann’s gaze. She sauntered to the bedside, dipped to catch Ann’s lips. Ann smiled into the kiss, her arms reaching up to wrap around Anne’s neck. 

“Good morning,” Anne husked as she pulled away. 

“Hi,” Ann whispered, pulling Anne back into her. She acquiesced for a few moments, and Ann thought she might be able to pull her back into bed. Anne’s hands cupped her face, tilting her head to deepen the kiss; her hair fell in a damp curtain around them. “Come here,” Ann breathed and tugged on her neck. 

Anne groaned and pulled away, kneeling next to the bed. 

“I can’t, darling, I had a call from my editor this morning,” Anne sighed, running her hand through Ann’s hair. “I have to do some research, fix my last pages, write new ones. I’m very behind. I can’t imagine why,” Anne’s other hand traced across Ann’s belly, sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. She kissed Ann softly once more before standing up. 

Ann sighed in disappointment, sitting up in bed to watch Anne dress. She stepped into black jeans, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her socks. Ann knelt behind her, kissed behind her ear, along her neck, under her chin. She ran her hands around Anne’s middle and pressed her chest against Anne’s back. If Anne was going to abandon her for her work, she would at least show her what she was missing. 

“Ann,” she sighed and put her hands over Ann’s on her stomach. “Really, I –” 

“Ten minutes, Pony. Five.” Ann moved her hands to Anne’s warm stomach.

“Five minutes,” Anne growled and flipped around to press Ann into the mattress. Ann giggled into their kiss, until Anne’s hips started their slow grind between her legs. Anne’s jeans were rough between Ann’s legs, but she found she liked it. Ann felt her pulse race; Anne’s effect on her was instantaneous. She bit Ann’s neck, dipping her hand to trace between Ann’s legs. Ann gasped; she was already wet, already needed her desperately. Anne circled her clit, balancing the ferocity of her lips and teeth with the gentle ministrations of her fingers. Ann wrapped an arm around Anne’s broad back; she grasped Anne’s strong bicep, reveling in the flexing of muscle under her fingertips. She started to pant, feeling her release building. 

“Yes, Anne, ye-” Anne pulled her hand away, kissed her once more, and sat back on her heels. Ann felt her orgasm slip away from her. She sat up, panting and confused. “Anne?” she breathed.

“Five minutes, Miss Walker,” Anne nodded to the clock as she stood and pulled a black crewneck sweater over her undershirt. Ann exhaled shakily and shook her head at the gorgeous, infuriating woman in front of her. 

“You’re kidding.”

“Have a shower, get dressed, then come down for breakfast.”

“Screw breakfast, come back here,” Ann patted the bed. 

“I can work and cook, darling,” Anne kissed her once more on the way to the door. “But I cannot work and –” Anne bit her lip as her eyes travelled Ann’s body. “Come down soon.”

And then she was gone. Ann groaned and flopped backward. Yes, she’d take a shower. Better be a cold one.

About an hour later, she found Anne hunched over the counter, typing haltingly. She had two small hills of books piled up behind the laptop, one book propped up next to the keyboard. She tilted her head left and right as she wrote, as if the right perspective would help her find the right words. Next to her, a few frying pans sizzled on the stove, and Anne looked up just long enough to flip something and stir something else before returning to her computer. A silver box hummed on the counter by the fridge. Hold on, was that – 

“Do I own a toaster?”

Anne spun around, giving Ann that wide grin she loved so much. As if on cue, the toaster dinged, and four slices of bread popped up. 

“Yes, in fact, you do,” Anne split the toast between two plates, before returning to her pans and splitting the contents.

“I never knew,” Ann followed her out onto the deck in the warm morning sun. She made a mental note to familiarize herself more with the kitchen, hell with the whole house. For so long she had trapped herself in her bedroom, the TV room, the living room (mostly to cry). Anne was pushing her boundaries, expanding her world - even in her own house. 

“So,” Anne said as they sat down, “what’s on the schedule for you today?”

“I don’t know. Call Catherine, probably. Elizabeth, maybe. Watch TV. Paint.”

Anne nodded, and they munched quietly for a few minutes. Ann thought Anne seemed nervous, antsy. She was eating quickly, pausing only to twist the ring around her index finger as she swallowed. Perhaps she’s itching to get back to her work, Ann thought glumly; she’s bored of me already. 

“I was wondering,” Anne started, her voice smooth but tentative, as if she had practiced saying this, “if, after this is over, you might pay a call, a sort of formal call, on my aunt. And my father and my sister. Mostly I want you to meet my aunt. I think you’d really get along.”

“Of course, if you like,” Ann replied, “but, you know, I’ve met your aunt. And father and sister.”

“What? When?” Ann almost laughed at the confusion coloring Anne’s face; she guessed Anne had not predicted this.

“A month or so ago, I think? My aunt and I got a flat tire near Shibden. We went there to wait for James to pick us up.” 

“I had no idea,” Anne shook her head, pushing her empty plate away from her. Ann stretched her legs onto Anne’s lap and, closing her eyes, turned her face upward to the warm sun. Anne ran her hands up Ann’s legs absentmindedly. 

“They were very nice. Said you were in Hastings still, but coming home soon. Marian didn’t seem too happy,” Ann allowed herself to crack an eyelid to see Anne’s reaction.

“Marian! That – she is so – I cannot handle her,” Anne sputtered, her face coloring, “she is the strangest person I have ever known. That is so incredibly rude. I don’t know why she –”

“I didn’t mind,” Ann interrupted. “Shibden is lovely.” 

“Thank you,” Anne preened. “I have really put a lot of work into it. And I was thinking,” that well-practiced voice was back, “without a more formal, more solemn tie between us, our relationship seems so casual, or, uh, fleeting. And that’s not how I feel about you.”

“Okay,” Ann said slowly, lowering her feet to the ground, unsure what Ann’s point was.

“So I wonder if, when this is over, we could live together. Set up home together. We’re practically doing it now. And while this house is very nice, I can’t leave Shibden, and my family, you know, is –”

Ann never found out how Anne would have ended that sentence, having cut Anne’s speech short by crashing their lips together. Anne made a small sound of surprise before returning the kiss, holding Ann’s head in her hands. They finally parted, both grinning. 

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Anne teased, stroking Ann’s cheek with her thumb.

“Do you think it’s soon?” Ann couldn’t stop smiling, but her mind was starting to cloud with doubts. “Will your family mind? What will people think we–”

“I don’t think it’s too soon,” Anne said firmly. “My family will not mind. I don’t give a damn what people think. I only care what you think.” 

Ann could barely hold Anne’s intense gaze. She dropped her head and picked at her nails. She wanted to be with Anne all the time, but they’d only spent a week together. Wasn’t that awfully fast? Wouldn’t everyone insinuate awful things about what they’d been doing for two weeks, cooped up together? Wouldn’t Anne grow tired of her once she was back in reality?

“Will you tell me what you’re thinking?” Anne asked quietly, her hands retreating to her lap.

“You’ll get fed up of me,” Ann said softly.

“I wonder why you have such a poor opinion of yourself,” Anne whispered, then, more confidently, “I will not get fed up of you. I love you, Ann, and I want to live with you. At Shibden. I want to spend my life with you.”

“Like a marriage?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized. She bit her lip, wishing she could reel them back in. Of course, Anne wasn’t thinking about marriage, Ann admonished herself, it had been seven days. But then Anne took her chin between her thumb and forefinger, gently lifting Ann’s face to meet her eyes. 

“Yes,” she said softly, “I would like to marry you one day.”

Ann nodded mutely, focused on those deep brown eyes, her only anchor in the doubts swirling in her mind. She couldn’t find the words to tell Anne yes, absolutely, without a doubt, she would live with her, marry her, anything. Even with her fears and anxieties, she knew she wanted Anne. Today, tomorrow, yesterday. She just nodded, and by the small, hopeful smile on Anne’s face, Ann knew she understood.

“But let’s start with moving you in to Shibden, hmm?” 

“Yes,” Ann managed.

“Good,” Anne kissed her chastely. “Good. You know, you’d break my heart if you said no,” Anne was back to teasing, releasing Ann’s chin and standing. They cleared the table and returned to the kitchen. Anne gathered her laptop, books, and, previously unseen, reading glasses. “I’m off to immerse myself in my own terrible writing.”

Ann tried to laugh, but she was suddenly breathless at the sight of Professor Anne Lister, PhD. The stark black, the books, the – oh God – the glasses. Ann had heard Anne was a popular teacher, but, Good Lord, how did any of her students focus? Anne gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as she left the room, and Ann felt desire spread from her face to her toes. All that cold water for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! What do we think?
> 
> I have the next few chapters written, and I'm excited about them, so there will likely be a second chapter posted this afternoon.


	21. Monday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this is just...there's no reason for this. I can't help myself.

Anne slumped backward in her chair with a sigh. These rewrites were eluding her; all her arguments and research and structure tangled in her mind. She was starting to feel like taking a pair of scissors to the whole jumbled mess, rather than spend the time to ease open the knots. She rubbed the back of her neck and studied the ceiling of the small bedroom where she used to keep her things. Before Ann had brought her into her bed and her heart. Before Anne had allowed herself to try again. 

And Ann had said yes, Anne thought with a smile. She would meet Aunt Anne (and the others), she would move in, and, soon enough, she would accept Anne’s ring. Anne would spend her evening hour with someone she loved and who loved her. She knew Ann was apprehensive, scared probably, of the fallout from her family, but Anne also knew her well enough by now to trust her. They could face these outside forces together. When was the last time she’d been this confident? Decades. 

Anne was shaken from her reprieve by a knock at the door. She sat up and straightened her glasses. 

“Come in.”

Ann opened the door shyly and stepped into the room. She’d changed since this morning, into a demure dress cut much too short; the Peter Pan collar suggested modesty, but the skirt stopped midthigh. Anne felt her mouth run dry at the sight. She’d tied half of her hair back behind her head, making her look younger than her twenty-nine years. She looked like one of the students in Anne’s undergrad courses. 

“Dr. Lister? Are you still having office hours?”

Anne furrowed her brow, before realization washed over her. Little Ann Walker. Interrupting her work for some naughty roleplay in the middle of the day. How delicious. 

“Miss Walker, what can I help you with?” Anne leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, assessing the woman in front of her. She motioned for Ann to sit on the straight-back chair across from her. 

“It’s a personal problem, really,” Ann sat, a smile tugging at her lips as she attempted to stay in character. 

“Well, I can’t promise anything, but I can try to help.”

“You see, I have this, uh, friend. And she is just massively in love with her professor.”

“Uh-huh,” Anne bit her lip.

“And the professor doesn’t really seem to know she exists. Even though she sits in the front and raises her hand constantly. This professor never calls on her.”

“Right.”

“What should she do?”

“Well, first she should know that a professor can lose her job for starting any kind of personal relationship with a student. She should know that sometimes professors ignore students to protect themselves. She should know that professors have feelings too.”

“What kind of feelings?” Ann was enjoying herself, and it only made Anne burn hotter. 

“Oh, the usual ones, I suppose. Happiness, sadness, fear…excitement…arousal.”

“Arousal?” 

“Yes, of course. A professor may be lecturing about any number of things, but in her mind she is ravishing the petite blonde in the front row.”

“Ravishing?” Ann squeaked. 

“Picturing her naked. Imaging the way she would kiss and moan and fuck.” Ann exhaled sharply, bringing a grin to Anne’s face as she continued. “Thinking about how badly she wants to taste her.”

“What should I – my friend do?”

“I guess, Miss Walker,” Anne leaned forward, balancing her elbows on her knees, “she should try to see if this professor feels the same way.”

Anne reached forward and put her hand lightly on Ann’s thigh, just above her knee. She felt the younger woman shiver at the touch, tried to keep her poker face as she watched the color rise in Ann’s cheeks. 

“How would she do that?” Ann was breathless already. 

“She could show up to her office hours in a short skirt and see what happens,” Anne caressed her inner thigh, sliding her hand as high as she could reach. 

“But that’s what I’m doing,” Ann whispered. 

With that, Anne was on her, hauling her out of her chair, crashing their lips together, grasping at her hips. Ann returned the kiss with equal fervor, tangling her fingers in Anne’s hair. Anne started to pull off her glasses, but Ann caught her. She shook her head slowly, draping her arms around Anne’s neck and backing her up toward the desk. Anne captured her lips once more, all teeth and desperation. She needed Ann, needed to possess her and consume her, needed to feel her coming apart in her hands. 

Anne turned to face the desk, closing her laptop and shoving the books to the floor. Ann was pressing at her back, trailing kisses behind her ear, down her neck, to the collar of her sweater. Anne rotated in her arms, attacking Ann’s mouth once again before spinning them both to press Ann roughly against the desk. She lifted Ann onto it, delighting in the breathy giggle Ann let out at the flurry of movement. 

“Is this what you wanted, Miss Walker?”” Anne growled in her ear as she ran her hands up Ann’s creamy thighs, pushing that tiny little skirt up around her waist. Ann wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Anne moaned at the sight of her, capturing her lips again; she reveled in the feeling of Ann’s small hands running up and down her back, the sensation of Ann’s soft hips under her fingertips. Ann canted her hips upward, wrapping her legs around Anne’s waist. Anne pulled back a fraction: “what do you want me to do, Miss Walker?”

“Dr. Lister,” Ann panted, her eyes half-closed with desire, “I need you.”

“Need what?” Anne whispered as she ran a hand up to the crease between Ann’s torso and thigh. 

“I need you to – please, Dr. Lister –”

“Please what?” Anne nipped at her earlobe.

“Please fuck me, Dr. Lister.”

Ann’s voice was so desperate, so sweet and needy, that Anne took pity on her. She thrust into her roughly, and they moaned in unison. She started a steady rhythm, increasing quickly and bearing down on Ann’s clit. Ann grasped desperately at her back, rolling her hips to match Anne’s hand. 

“Getting what you wanted, Miss Walker?” Anne growled, feeling her own arousal pooling in her boxers. “Is this why you came to my office in that tiny skirt? So I would fuck you? So I could spread you across my desk?” Ann nodded frantically, her mouth open and eyes shut. Anne continued to push into her, savoring the feeling of her tight walls around her fingers.

“Dr. Lister! Yes, right there, yes, yes,” she managed as the waves crashed into her, her voice impossibly loud. Anne kissed her hard to silence her, softening her strokes and holding her close as Ann slumped into her. She kissed her cheek softly before pulling back to admire her handiwork. 

Ann Walker was thoroughly wrecked. Skirt bunched up around her hips. Legs splayed wide. Core still dripping wet. Hair tousled and tangled. Lips swollen. She opened her eyes slowly, a smile spreading across her face. Anne felt a fresh wave of arousal rush through her. Ann’s expression was positively filthy. 

She took Anne’s hand, kissed each fingertip, then slipped her index and middle finger between her lips. She sucked her own arousal from Anne’s fingers, her tongue running the length of them. Anne whimpered, unsure if she would survive this fire blazing in her gut. Ann slid her fingers from her mouth slowly, then stood shakily, backing Anne into her chair. Anne sat down heavily, panting as she watched Ann kneel to fiddle with her waistband and pull her jeans around her ankles. 

Ann closed her eyes and ran her tongue along Anne’s inner thighs, peppering bites along the way. Anne groaned, sinking lower in the chair, pushing her hips forward. Ann teased her core, the pressure too light, too gentle. Anne grabbed her head roughly, pulling her forward. Ann took the hint, flicking her tongue over Anne’s clit, her fingers digging into Anne’s thighs. She took the center of Anne’s need between her lips, grazed her teeth over the hard bud, then circled it with her tongue. Anne was gone, lost to the ecstasy of Ann Walker and her perfect mouth. She felt her release coil tightly in her stomach, Ann’s tongue press into her impossibly harder, then – she was shuddering, trembling, bucking against Ann’s face. Ann held her hips steady, stroking her core through wave after wave. Until, at last, Anne released her head. 

Ann sat back on her heels, her face shining with Anne’s arousal. Anne leaned down, used her tongue to clean Ann’s pink cheeks, then caught her lips in a slow kiss. Ann rose slowly, then sat on Anne’s bare lap, her right arm draped over Anne’s shoulders, her legs dangling over the arm of the chair. For several minutes, they kissed slowly and deeply, letting their heartrates slow. 

“Good Lord, Adney,” Anne laughed, “how did you come up with that?”

“These glasses,” Ann poked at the bridge of her nose, “are so unbelievably sexy. I’ve been thinking about them all day.” Anne laughed and rolled her eyes; she had never considered her glasses even remotely attractive, much less sexy. “I did try to hold off. But I got bored. And the thought of you up here, alone, working so hard and wearing those glasses…”

Anne laughed and pulled Ann into her chest, one hand on her knee, the other at her hip. 

“You know I’d never do that right?”

“What?” Ann asked.

“Have sex with a student. I would lose my job. It’s terribly inappropriate. Balance of power and all that. I mean you’d really have to be sure they felt the same way. And that they could keep a secret. And –”

“Do you have to be so literal all the time?” Ann laughed. “It was just a silly idea.”

“Not so silly,” Anne purred, squeezing Ann’s thigh. 

“You’d better tell me if any of your students try it on with you,” Ann warned. “I’ll be very cross.”

Anne laughed and kissed her. 

Silence stretched between them for a beat. 

“I wish we could go out somewhere. We haven’t even had a proper date, you know?” Ann sighed into her chest. Anne stroked the back of her head. She did know. She wanted nothing more than to take Ann to dinner, hold her hand on the sidewalk, fumble around in the back of a taxi. 

“We could go on a date,” Anne said, an idea forming in her mind. 

“No, we can’t,” Ann pouted. “Even if we weren’t quarantined. Everything is closed.”

“We could have a little at-home date.”

“What?”

“We could dress up and order something nice and do all those first date things.” 

Ann nodded, considering. 

“Miss Walker,” Anne asked seriously, straightening her back, “would you go out with me tonight?”

“Why, Dr. Lister, I thought you’d never ask. Where should we go?”

“Dining room? About seven? I’ll pick you up.”

“Sounds perfect,” Ann giggled before claiming Anne’s lips once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos seriously make my whole day.


	22. Monday Night

Ann studied her reflection carefully. Her makeup was soft, her hair hung in loose waves around her face, her light pink dress clung to her torso but flared at her waist and over her thighs. The skirt was short, but not too short. She hoped. She turned in the mirror, inspecting herself over her shoulder. Well, it’s not like Anne would mind. 

A knock at the door sent her skittering across the room. She swung open to find Anne at quite possibly her most handsome. She had pulled her dark hair back in a loose braid over her shoulder; she wore a perfectly tailored black suit, paired with a matching waistcoat and a checked grey and white shirt. Her thin black tie was knotted neatly at her neck. Her black brogues seemed freshly polished, but her slim ankles peeked out between shoe and pant. Something about the lack of socks was very sexy. Rogue-ish, perhaps. 

“Miss Walker,” Anne purred and held out her hand. Ann took it gladly, and they set off down the hall together. She felt a bit silly, pretending she didn’t know Anne very well, but really, this was their first date. They had done many things together, her and Anne, but they had never sat down properly to get to know each other. 

Anne swept her into the dining room. The table was laid out with spaghetti, bread, wine. Was this her china? Ann really had no idea what was in her own house. She giggled as Anne pulled out her chair, watched as she poured them each a glass of wine, raised her glass to mirror Anne.

“What shall we toast to?” Ann asked.

“To the healthcare workers and custodians and shopworkers and delivery people keeping our world turning in all of this,” Anne said thoughtfully.

“Not very romantic,” Ann laughed and clinked her glass against Anne’s, “but I guess you’re right.”

They each took a sip, their eyes locked on each other. How would Ann survive the tension pulsing around them? 

“I have a question for you,” Anne started. Ann thought she could detect a hint of shyness in Anne’s voice. Perhaps she was as nervous as Ann. “If you could only listen to one album for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Ooooh, now that is tough.” Ann bit her lip as she considered. “I mean I want to have a very sophisticated answer, but all that comes to mind right now is Taylor Swift’s ‘Lover.’”

“Makes perfect sense,” Anne chuckled. “I’m not ashamed to say mine is Jagged Little Pill.” 

Ann laughed. 

“What?” Indignation colored Anne’s face.

“No, nothing, it’s, uh, well it’s very you,” Ann grinned. 

“It’s a great album!” Anne protested.

“Yes, of course it is.” Ann soothed; “my turn: what’s the drunkest you’ve ever been?” Ann had looked up some first date questions ahead of time, and she felt saucy asking this one, fairly certain Anne’s answer would be salacious. 

“Finals weekend, my third year of undergrad,” Anne nodded and took a sip of wine. “I drank half a bottle of tequila, then rum, then whiskey, then I’m told I was chugging beer. I was hustling a groups of guys at poker, I won a darts tournament – no memory of that – and I slapped some guy in the face. Twice. But I don’t know if that’s true; I don’t know if I can trust Tib’s version of events.”

“Tib?” Ann remembered the name vaguely.

“Tib is,” Anne sighed, “an old friend of mine. We were, uh, going out for a while, I guess. That’s a strong word really, for what we were doing. Sleeping together is more accurate. We were in uni together. We drank a lot, got a bit out of control. I reeled it back in, but Tib, uh, she’s struggling.”

“I’m sorry,” Ann whispered, suddenly feeling very foolish for bringing it up.

“No!” Anne said quickly, “No, no, it’s uh – it’s one of those things in my past. You’ll find there are a lot of them.”

Ann nodded, letting the sound of their eating fill the room.

“Now you didn’t tell me, Miss Walker, the drunkest you’ve ever been.”

“Oh, that, well,” Ann laughed, “Catherine and I once drank three bottles of wine and prank called the Priestleys.”

“No, you didn’t!” Anne’s face split into that toothy grin. 

“Oh yeah, we said there was a virus on their computer, and they needed to read us their entire search history.”

“What!”

“And they did!” Ann laughed and shook her head, “it was so gross. Stuff like ‘bunion cure,’ and ‘middle age liver spot female,’ and ‘sex after menopause.’”

They dissolved into laughter. This was heaven, Ann thought, surrounding yourself with the laughter of the woman you love. She swore she didn’t stop grinning the entire evening. They discussed television and aunts and fashion and pets and ice cream. Ann had always feared going out with someone and finding she had nothing in common with them. Would she just change everything about herself to suit? She had assumed she would. But Anne didn’t expect that of her. They were similar in a lot of ways, but their differences were complementary. Anne only liked the cookie part of the Oreo, which left the filling for Ann. Ann fell asleep at the end of movies, but Anne struggled to focus until the midway point. Together, they could piece together an entire film. Even the things they starkly disagreed about (such as the superior social media site: Anne’s Twitter or Ann’s Instagram), there were commonalities. Ann had never felt so secure in disagreeing with someone, so confident in asserting her own opinion. 

Soon enough, their plates were empty, the wine gone, and the sun set. Anne took her hand across the table, toying idly with her fingers. 

“What do you think? Shall we see each other again?” She asked, giving Ann’s hand a light squeeze.

“I suppose,” Ann said coyly, standing from the table. 

“You suppose, huh? Can I at least get your phone number?” Anne was on her feet, following Ann to the staircase.

Ann nodded, holding out her hand for Anne’s phone. Anne gave it, watching as Ann typed in her number, then called it. She handed the phone back. Anne smiled and pocketed it. 

“I think I’ll be devastated if I don’t see you again,” Anne said as she climbed the stairs behind her. Ann was rather enjoying stringing Anne along, watching her try to woo her. 

“I think you’ll see me again,” Ann winked as she reached her bedroom door. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?”

Anne grinned, then took Ann’s face in her hands, tilting her head to catch Ann’s lips in a soft, slow kiss. They separated, and for a moment, Ann considered letting Anne push through the doorway and throw her on the bed. But she was enjoying this delicious tension between them, the thrill of being chased by Anne. 

“Good night, Dr. Lister,” Ann whispered, before turning on her heel and going into her room, leaving Anne in the hallway. 

She slipped out of her dress and into one of Anne’s shirts, left discarded haphazardly on the floor. She washed her face and brushed her teeth. She was just climbing into bed when her phone rang. 

“Hello?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Ann,” Anne’s voice was low, gravelly.

“I had a nice time too.”

“Nice? That was easily the best date I’ve had in my life.”

Ann chuckled, unsure how to respond. 

“If you felt even a quarter of the way I feel right now,” Anne said, “I would be happy. If you could ever feel half of the way I feel about you, God, I would never want anything else.”

“Pony, you must know how I feel. I love you. You know that.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence. Ann thought she heard rustling, Anne’s breath quicken. 

“Call me Pony again,” came Anne’s low voice. Ann bit her lip. Was Anne really – touching herself – just down the hall? She sunk lower into the pillows.

“What are you doing, Pony? Something naughty?”

“What if I was?”

“I guess I would join you.”

Anne groaned. Then:

“What are you wearing, Adney?”

“Your shirt from yesterday.”

“Oh my God.”

At the sound of Anne’s groans and pants, Ann slipped her hand between her legs. She was wet already. An evening spent staring at Anne Lister without touching her would do that. She started circling her clit slowly.

“Are you touching yourself?” Anne whispered.

“Yes.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Ann answered, her mind already flooded with images of Anne. “You in that suit tonight. Your hands on me this afternoon. Your glasses.”

“Those bloody glasses,” Anne gave a breathy laugh. For a few moments, the air was filled only with the sound of their breathing. “I want you so much, Adney. You can’t even imagine.”

“Come get me,” Ann dared, then hung up. Before she knew it, her door flung open, a disheveled and breathless Anne silhouetted in the low light. 

Anne crawled into bed, capturing Ann’s lips in a fierce kiss as her hands ripped her shirt open. Buttons scattered across the room, but Ann didn’t even notice. Anne’s hands were already on her breasts, her teeth grazing her jugular. Ann moaned, arching her back into Anne. Anne made her way down Ann’s body, kissing and nipping and sucking. Ann fisted her hands in the sheets, desperate for Anne’s touch. Anne lifted her legs over her shoulders, a move so intimate and practical and sexy it took Ann’s breath. 

She hardly had time to recover before Anne’s mouth was on her, sucking the life from her body. Anne took her clit in her mouth, sucking lightly just before she slid two fingers into Ann’s core. Ann cried out at the sensation, her hands reaching down to tangle in Anne’s braid. Anne was gentle and rough, the duality between the motions of her mouth and of her fingers overwhelmed Ann’s pleasure-soaked brain. Anne slipped a third finger in with the rest, and Ann thought she might really and truly split in two. Ann was moaning in earnest now, unable to control her voice or her rolling hips. Wave after wave crashed into her, her walls clamping down around Anne’s hand, her fingers tugging at Anne’s hair. 

At last, Anne resurfaced, wiping her face with the back of her hand and pulling her hair free from the near-destroyed braid. Ann pulled her down, kissing her sloppily as she recovered. Her body still felt like jelly when Anne started grinding on her thigh. 

Anne balanced on her forearms over Ann, her hips moving steadily. Ann studied her, watched the way she canted her hips, the way she closed her eyes, the way she curled her toes. There was nothing more exhilarating than this. Ann traced a finger down Anne’s torso, into her boxers, squeezing between her legs. Anne’s hips faltered for a second. Ann used this opportunity to start her own rhythm against Anne’s clit, pulling the older woman down to lay flush against her. Anne buried her head in the crook of Ann’s shoulder, her hips rutting against her hand. Ann kissed her ear, the side of her head, everywhere she could reach.

“Let go, Pony. I’m right here. Come on. Right there,” Ann said as Anne started to shudder, “that’s right, baby. Come for me.”

Anne trembled over her, her hips bucking against her hand as she tumbled over the edge. Ann stroked the back of her head, slowed her movements in Anne’s boxers, then removed her hand completely. 

Anne rolled onto her back, flinging an arm over her eyes as she panted at the ceiling. Ann stood and moved to find a new shirt to sleep in, now that this one was effectively ruined. She pulled a t-shirt over her head and climbed back into bed. Anne moved her arm and rolled onto her side. 

“As far as first dates go,” Anne purred, “that easily top five.”

“Top five?” Ann cried, laughing as she struck Anne lightly on the arm, the stomach, the chest. She rolled over, turning her back to Anne. “You’re a beast. I should have let you sleep in your own bed.”

“You can’t resist me,” Anne said smugly as she pulled Ann to her, cuddling up and wrapping her arm around her middle. She kissed Ann’s neck, and then whispered seriously, “the best first date of my life, Adney. And the last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Your feedback means everything. 
> 
> Anne's line over the phone based on: "if she felt a quarter of the regard for me I did for her, I should be satisfied - but if she ever felt half, I should be more than happy - she said that would come - in fact, I think it will" October 1st, 1832
> 
> I really had intentions of them keeping their hands off each other, but I physically can't do it. 
> 
> Now, I'm almost finished with the filth that is Tuesday. I'd like to post it all at once, but would you rather one huge chapter or two medium ones (posted at the same time)?


	23. Tuesday Morning

Anne slipped out of bed before the sun rose. She tugged on her walking clothes, gave Ann’s sleeping form once last look, then crept out into the morning. The dew squelched under her feet as she strode across the rolling hills of Ann’s estate; it was still cool, and the air felt heavy with the possibilities ahead. The ring would arrive today. 

Anne was absolutely confident that Ann would accept it. Well, mostly confident. Between 75 and 85 percent. She didn’t doubt Ann’s feelings for her, but she worried it was all a little sudden. Anne already knew she wanted to marry Ann Walker, had known from the first day she’d spent at Crow Nest, but she had to be practical. A proposal after just two weeks was a little fast, even for Anne. For as long as she could remember, she had always longed for commitment. Despite all her globe-trotting, Anne really just wanted someone to settle with her at Shibden. Someone to eat dinner with and sit on the couch with and fall asleep with. This last week with Ann had been better than all her fantasies.

She started to plan her proposal as the sky turned pink. Perhaps outside. In the evening. She would cook, then lead Ann into the garden. Perhaps here, where the tulips were poking through the soft dirt. Or over across the way, where snapdragons bled into hyacinth. Anne would wear her only white shirt and the navy-blue pants Eugenie had bought on accident thinking they were black. Anne wanted to make a sartorial statement; she was no longer in mourning.

Anne just about had her speech cemented in her brain by the time she jogged up the stairs to their bedroom. Not Ann’s. Theirs. Anne smiled to herself at the thought. She opened the door soundlessly and slipped inside. It didn’t matter, though, because Ann was still asleep, snoring lightly, having drifted to Anne’s side of the bed and pressed her nose into her pillow. How delightful, Anne thought, to have a designated side of the bed and a pillow that was always hers. Not freshly laundered to cover her scent when the boyfriend or husband came home. 

Anne showered quickly, brushed her teeth, towel-dried her hair. She was just pulling on her jeans when Ann stirred. She padded to the side of the bed and bent down to kiss Ann’s forehead. Ann’s eyes opened slowly, that sleepy smile spreading across her face. 

“Good morning,” Anne whispered.

“How are you already up?” Ann’s voice bordered on whining. 

“I’m old. Can’t sleep late anymore.”

Ann rolled her eyes, then tilted her chin. Anne dipped her head to catch her lips in a soft kiss. 

“I saw pancake mix in the cabinet. What do you think?” Anne whispered against Ann’s lips. 

Ann groaned and flopped backward. 

“Twenty minutes, Miss Walker,” Anne said as she left the room.

Twenty-two minutes later, Ann appeared in the kitchen in faded jeans and a paint-stained t-shirt. Anne had already amassed a short tower of small pancakes, but now she attempted larger ones, shapes, letters. She made a cartoon sun, a flower, two letter As; she pushed away the memory of Mariana sneering at her cutesy breakfast all those years ago. Anne was consciously showing off, trying to impress Ann, make her laugh.

And it was working. Ann was giggling, drizzling syrup over Anne’s creations, feeding her the tiny, buttery rejects while Anne shaped the larger ones. They never sat down, just ate standing at the counter, all toothy grins and sticky kisses. Ann backed her against the counter and kissed her soundly, with a ferocity that caught Anne off-guard. When she pulled back, Anne looked at her quizzically. 

“Do you have to write today?” Ann breathed, nipping at Anne’s bottom lip.

Anne hated that she had to work today, but she did. She sighed and ran her hands up and down Ann’s arms. 

“Yes, darling, I’m sorry.”

“Promise me you’ll be finished by dinner.”

“Of course,” Anne nodded. What was Ann worried about? She hadn’t missed a meal for work yet. She wouldn’t eat lunch, but Ann knew that was her custom. Anne gave her one final kiss before retreating to her makeshift office. 

She did manage to focus on her work, intermittently. She would have great bursts of productivity, then long stretches of window-gazing and worrying about Ann. She had seemed a bit off today, preoccupied. Anne wondered what was on her mind. But then she would get an idea for her book and sink back into the writing. Before she even realized, it was six o’clock. She saved her work and tidied her desk before heading downstairs. 

Before she hit the kitchen, she could smell Ann’s cooking. Onion, garlic, soy sauce. A hint of ginger. She hovered in the doorway before announcing herself, just watching Ann stir a large, steaming wok, consult her phone, stir the wok some more. She was barefoot, hair piled high on her head, still in that paint-stained t-shirt. Her head bopped lightly to the soft music underscoring the sizzles and pops from the stove. 

Anne knocked lightly on the wall, not wanting to startle the young woman. Ann turned around, a grin plastered on her face; her eyes were wide, almost wild. 

“Hi!” Ann said, “your timing is perfect. As always. About five minutes.” 

Anne sauntered to the stove and inspected Ann’s work – stir fry, it seemed, with chicken and carrots and peas and eggs. It smelled heavenly, but Anne vowed to love it even if it tasted like dirt. Ann turned her head over her shoulder, and Anne bent to give her a chaste kiss and rub her back. 

“Smells lovely, darling,” Anne inspected the fridge, located two beers, and popped the tops off. She couldn’t have created a better evening if she’d tried – a delicious dinner, a cold beer, a beautiful girl. She watched Ann root around for bowls, took pity on her, then pulled two from a cabinet Ann had definitely already searched. She followed Ann out to the deck, clinked their beer bottles together, tucked in to the meal before her. And it was, really and truly, quite good. 

“This is great, Adney. Really. Is this your own recipe?”

“As if,” Ann laughed. “I found it online. Luckily we had all the ingredients.”

Anne nodded, her mouth full. They ate and chatted innocuously about their days: Anne’s progress writing, Ann’s finishing her wren painting. Ann seemed antsy, jittery. Anne’s stomach twisted with the worries of this morning – was Ann upset about something?

“I wanted to do something nice for you, because…” Ann trailed off. “I got a package today.”

“Did you? I was expecting one as well.”

“Yes, it came. I put it upstairs, with your things.” Ann spoke quickly, as if this precious package was nothing to her. Anne chuckled inwardly at the irony – if she only knew. 

“So what was in your package?” Anne asked, wrapping her mouth around what was likely a too-large serving. Ann watched her chew with wide eyes, biting her bottom lip; she still had that worried, anxious look on. Anne took another heaping bite, urging Ann on with her fork. 

“A strap-on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for an ending?
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	24. Tuesday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Insert Blanche Devereaux spritzing herself with water gif]

“So what was in your package?” Anne asked, wrapping her mouth around what was likely a too-large serving. Ann watched her chew with wide eyes, biting her bottom lip; she still had that worried, anxious look on. Anne took another heaping bite, urging Ann on with her fork. 

“A strap-on.”

Anne choked, coughed, sputtered. She bent over, head between her knees, and hacked for a long moment. Ann rubbed her back gently. Once she got her breath back, Anne stayed between her knees for a beat. Surely she had misheard. 

“Say it again?” Anne said incredulously. 

“You had mentioned, before, that you had – uh – enjoyed them, so I – well, I – uh – ordered one. I don’t know if it’s right. Um, I – I did rather a lot of research. I wanted it to, you know, be a surprise.” Anne nodded emphatically. It certainly was that. “I was going to – uh – sort of just present it to you. Later, I mean. But then I – well, I was sort of nervous – I mean I still am! But that’s why I didn’t ask you first, you know, I was…” Ann trailed off, shaking her head helplessly.

Anne was shocked. Sure, that was putting it mildly. She was also intrigued. Undeniably interested. And more than a little aroused. She had resigned herself to another week without that particular pleasure, but now – well. Her mind wandered - what kind of strap would little Ann Walker have bought? 

“Are you cross? I can send it back – or throw it in the trash. We don’t have to – to do anything.”

“Hey,” Anne said softly as she took Ann’s hand. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But if this is something you – uh, are interested in” Anne bit her lip, “I’m very interested in it too.”

“Really?” Ann breathed, the creases on her forehead smoothing, her shoulders relaxing.

“Of course.” Anne finished her beer. “I mean, are you still eating or…?”

Ann shook her head, and they dashed inside. Their bowls were still clattering in the sink when their feet hit the stairs. They raced to their bedroom, and Ann leaned against the closed door. God, she was gorgeous, Anne thought. She grabbed Ann by the hips and pushed her firmly into the door, crashing their lips together. Ann ran her hands up Anne’s arms, one tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. Anne pulled back – kissed her again – pulled back – kissed her – pulled back. For a long beat, they just looked at each other, lips swollen, eyes bright, chests heaving. 

“Can I, uh, see it?” 

Ann disentangled herself and went to her dresser, pulled a nondescript black box from the middle drawer. Anne sat on the bed, and Ann crawled onto it to perch on her knees in front of her. Ann opened the box, as if presenting Anne with a new pair of shoes or a trophy. The strap was actually remarkably similar to the one in Anne’s bedroom in size and shape. Though perhaps, a hair longer. Anne swallowed; her throat was suddenly incredibly dry. The leather harness was almost identical. The only difference – the strap was pink.

“Have you been reading my mind?” Anne purred, lifting the strap from its box to get a feel for it. 

“I did a lot of research,” Ann laughed breathlessly, “this seemed, um, like the best option.”

“Oh yes,” Anne was now examining the harness, turning it over in her hands. 

“I actually chatted with this online saleswoman, who was incredibly helpful.”

“Did you?” Anne was scandalized. The idea of Ann discussing – Good Lord – Anne felt faint just imagining it. 

“I know you have one, or maybe you have a lot, but I didn’t – I mean I was getting sort of impatient.”

Anne grinned and caught Ann’s lips in a kiss. Ann’s small hands cupped her face, held her in place as Ann tilted her head to deepen the kiss. She nipped at Anne’s bottom lip before pulling away. 

“One question, though.”

“Okay,” Ann breathed.

“Pink?” Anne asked, a smirk tugging at her lips. 

“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Ann laughed and shrugged. “What color would you prefer?”

“The one I have at Shibden is black.”

“Of course it is!” Ann laughed and rolled her eyes. “Everything you own is black. I’m trying to bring a little color into your life.” 

Anne caught her lips again, biting her lip in retribution for teasing her. Anne hadn’t had a new strap in years, hadn’t had a reason. Mariana liked the one she had well enough, not that they had much occasion to use it anymore. Of course it was black. Anne was nothing if not committed to the aesthetic. She pulled away and studied the pink phallus in her hands. It was poetic, in a dirty sort of way, that she would get a new one for Ann, with Ann, and that it wouldn’t be black. 

“Now, couple of questions,” Anne straightened her back and took on a serious tone. She worried Ann didn’t know what she was getting herself into. Ann nodded eagerly. “Have you ever, uh, used something like this?”

“No,” Ann laughed nervously, “who with?”

“Not like, a vibrator, or…?” Ann shook her head. “Okay. Do you realize it’s going to, uh, be different than what we’ve been doing?”

“Yes, that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Anne said slowly, “but it could also – uh, hurt. You’ll tell me if you’re at all uncomfortable. Yes?”

“Anne,” her voice almost a reprimand, “I know what I’m getting into. I ordered it, didn’t I?”

Anne studied her face, so eager and excited and ignorant. She did seem sure, though. She had ordered it. Presented it to Anne. About a week after they’d had sex for the first time. She figured she’d better start trusting Ann knew what she wanted. Anne nodded, setting the whole thing aside. 

“Right then,” she kissed Ann slowly, their tongues sliding together, hands tangling in hair. 

Anne ran her hands under Ann’s shirt, over her warm belly, up to the line of her bra. She traced her fingertip over Ann’s ribs, then pulled back to tug the shirt over Ann’s head. Ann sat before her, chest heaving, breasts encased in the flimsiest excuse for a bra Anne had ever seen. Anne ran her hands over the cups, the soft lace tickling her palms; Ann moaned at the sensation. Anne placed wet kisses along her collarbone, unclasping Ann’s bra with practiced precision. She slid the straps down Ann’s slim arms, then brought her hands back to Ann’s chest. 

Slowly, she laid Ann back against the bedspread, snagging a pillow and slipping it under her head. Anne settled over her on her knees, hands still massaging, rolling, teasing her breasts. She dipped her head to take one perfect nipple in her mouth, circling the bud with her tongue before grazing her teeth over it. She repeated the process on Ann’s other breast, grinning as Ann’s hands tangled in her hair to pull her closer. At last, Anne released her and started a trail down Ann’s chest. She alternated soft presses of her lips, long strokes of her tongue, and sharp nips of her teeth. Ann was already writhing, her hips rolling. 

Anne looked up her as she undid Ann’s jeans – her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her upper body pink and heaving. Anne kissed one hipbone, then the other, before dragging Ann’s jeans down her legs. She tossed them over her shoulder, onto the pillows behind her, before turning her eyes back to Ann. 

Who was grasping at the sheets, her hips swirling fruitlessly, her damp arousal apparent on her snow-white panties. Anne kissed her again, probing Ann’s warm, wet mouth with her tongue, before settling on her knees between Ann’s legs. She bent to kiss Ann’s belly, then she took the waistband of Ann’s panties between her teeth. Ann moaned above her, lifting her hips so that Anne could pull the thin fabric down her thighs. Anne replaced her teeth with her hands, tugging the white lace down Ann’s legs and finally off, joining her jeans at the head of the bed. 

Anne settled on her stomach between Ann’s legs, bent her own legs at the knee and crossed her ankles in the air. As she lifted Ann’s knees to rest on her shoulders, Anne got a hearty whiff of Ann’s arousal. The poor girl was as wet as she’d ever seen her. Anne lapped at her firmly, alternating between her core and her clit, moaning at the taste of Ann on her tongue. Ann’s moans joined hers, filling the room, as she grasped at Anne’s head to bring her impossibly closer. Anne flicked her tongue over Ann’s clit once, twice – and she was gone. Ann shuddered and trembled above her, her thighs tensing around Anne’s ears. Anne slowed her strokes until Ann slackened, then lifted Ann’s legs off her shoulders.

She crawled back up Ann’s body to capture her lips in a slow kiss. Ann sighed into it, her tongue darting into Anne’s mouth and stroking along her own. Ann’s warm hands stroked along her waistline, then under her shirt and along her spine.

“How are you still dressed?” Ann asked when they separated. Anne laughed and shook her head, sitting back to shuck her shirt. Ann worked her jeans open while Anne twisted her bra off. She stood to shuffle out of her jeans. Ann sat up to watch her. Anne caught her gaze as she pushed her boxers over her hips and felt them pool around her ankles. Ann bit her lip, then dragged her eyes meaningfully to that nondescript black box. 

Anne moved slowly to the box and lifted the harness out. She fumbled with it for a few moments, adjusting the buckles and feeling her face grow warm under Ann’s watchful eye. Way to lose every ounce of seduction, she thought. Finally, finally, she got the fit right, and twisted her hips experimentally. 

“Oh my God, Pony,” Ann breathed, her eyes wide and fixed on Anne’s hips. Anne smiled weakly, still a little chagrined at her struggle with the harness. Ann picked up the strap and pressed it into place. Whether she was aware that this pressed the base directly onto Anne’s clit, Anne couldn’t know, but the smug smile she wore suggested she knew perfectly well. 

Anne’s hand shot out to grasp Ann’s forearm to steady herself, as Ann reached behind Anne’s neck to connect their lips. Ann ground the base against her, slowly but firmly, until Anne felt her inner walls clench, her head fall back, her body quake. Her legs nearly went out from under her, but Ann’s small hands held her upright. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d come so quickly.

Anne caught her in another teasing kiss, before pushing her gently onto her back. Anne crawled over her, relishing the familiar heavy feeling between her legs. She straddled Ann’s thigh, kissing her slowly and deeply, as her hand traced over Ann’s belly, her hip, her thigh. Ann canted her hips upward, grasping at Anne’s back. Anne slipped her hand between her legs, tracing her fingers through her arousal. 

“Pony, please,” Ann gasped, wrapping one arm around Anne’s neck and the other around her forearm. 

Anne could only kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck, as she teased Ann’s entrance. She traced it with the tip of her middle finger, then thrust inside, catching Ann’s clit with the base of her hand. Ann arched at the contact, that perfect, breathy moan escaping her lips. Anne worked her hand steadily between Ann’s legs, sliding another finger in with the first. Anne dipped her head to Ann’s chest, lavishing her perfect breasts with her tongue, distracting Ann as she slipped her ring finger in with the rest. Ann gasped at the intrusion, biting her lip at the stretch. Poor girl, Anne mused, she really didn’t know what she was in for. Ann was panting already, her hips rutting out of time. Anne wasn’t ready for her to come undone just yet, so she pulled her hand away and straightened. 

Ann’s eyes shot open, frantically searching Anne’s face. Anne adjusted to kneel between Ann’s thighs, then wrapped her hand around the base of her cock. Ann sat up on her elbows, chest still heaving, as she watched Anne drag the tip through her wet folds; her hips twitched at the contact. Anne was still worried about hurting her, about being too rough, so she gathered Ann’s arousal on her fingertips, coating the silicone between her legs. She looked up at Ann, silently asking. Ann nodded. 

Anne slowly eased her cock between Ann’s perfect folds. Both women groaned at the sensation. Ann, still propped on her elbows, threw her head back and closed her eyes. Anne slid into her slowly, still so very aware this was her first time doing this. She wanted nothing more than to pound into Ann, screw her senseless, rut into her until she screamed. But she didn’t. She forced herself to go slowly, until finally, blessedly, her hips met the inside of Ann’s spread thighs. She dropped to her hands over Ann, kissed her lightly, allowed the younger woman to adjust to being filled. 

“Ann?” 

“God, yes, Pony, just – give me a moment,” Ann panted. After a long beat, she lifted her legs to wrap around Anne’s waist, locking her ankles on Anne’s lower back. Anne searched her eyes, waiting for a cue, a signal, anything. Ann kissed her once more, then whispered, “take me.”

Anne grinned, starting a slow rhythm with her hips, filling Ann with deep, even strokes. Ann’s small hands grappled at her back, fingernails digging into her skin. Anne sped up, filling the room with the dirty sound of their skin meeting. She pressed open-mouthed kisses and teasing bites across Ann’s neck and clavicle; she relished the high-pitched moans Ann was panting out, the mumbled curses and cries for “God” and “Pony” and “more.” 

She slid her hand between their bodies, strummed Ann’s clit in a frenzy until she felt the resistance of Ann’s walls clenching around her cock, the increased pressure of Ann’s nails on her back, the tightening of her thighs around her waist. She kissed Ann’s jawline as she stilled. Slowly Ann opened her eyes, that satisfied smile filling her face. Anne kissed her again before pulling out slowly. 

“You are incredibly good at that,” Ann said as Anne flopped onto her back, her cock wobbling in the air, still slick with Ann’s arousal. Anne chuckled. Ann rolled onto her stomach and kissed her deeply. Anne traced her hand up Ann’s spine. “Can we do it again?”

Anne laughed, a full-throated guffaw. Ann Walker was, without a doubt, the most mesmerizing, astonishing, surprising woman she had ever met. She nodded, kissed Ann hard, then put her lips to Ann’s ear.

“Sit on my cock.”

Ann bit her lip and scrambled to sit up, her eyes wide as she straddled Anne’s hips. Anne wrapped her hands around Ann’s hips, guiding her entrance over her shining, pink cock. Ann sat down slowly, a low moan escaping her as her core stretched to fit all of Anne. Anne watched her breathe for a few moments, adjusting, before she put her hand on Anne’s chest and rolled her hips. 

Ann rode her like fresh colt, all gentleness and ease. She canted her hips slowly, one hand steadying herself on Anne’s abs, the other slipping up to toy with her own breasts. Anne was satisfied to watch the show for a few long moments, to let Ann take what pleasure she could for herself. 

“Getting what you wanted?” She husked, thrusting upward and guiding Ann’s hips in their steady rhythm, “fucking yourself on my cock?” Ann whimpered and nodded. “That’s right, baby, do you feel me inside? You’re so fucking hot like this.” Anne released one hip to rub firm circles over Ann’s clit, grinning as Ann bit her lip and started to thrust faster. Not fast enough for Anne.

In a flurry of limbs, she flipped Ann onto her back, planting her hands on either side of Ann’s head and starting a punishing rhythm. Ann cried out, throwing her head back into the pillows, hands grasping helplessly at Anne’s back. She sank her teeth into the pale column of Ann’s neck, and Ann’s arms fell helpless to the mattress. Anne grasped her hands, interlacing their fingers and pressing Ann’s arms back into the sheets above her head. Ann moaned, squeezing Anne’s hands. God, she had missed this, Anne thought, the burn in her stomach and thighs and back as her hips pounded mercilessly. She relished the sticky contact of their bellies, the electrifying friction of their nipples brushing together, the firm press of Ann’s heels at her back. She snaked a hand between their bodies to find Ann’s clit. Anne rolled the hard nub of Ann’s desire under her thumb, grinning into her chest at the moans now filling the room. Anne started to thrust more shallowly, more quickly, more roughly. Ann was gasping below her. 

“Pony, yes, harder, please, yes, right th- yes, yes, yes.” With her signature sign-off, Ann was gone. She trembled in Anne’s arms, her free arm pulling the older woman impossibly closer, her inner walls contracting around Anne’s cock, still buried deep inside her. Slowly, she stilled; her arms and legs released Anne and fell back onto the mattress. Anne kissed her slowly as she retracted her hips, once again flopping beside her. 

Their labored breathing filled the room. Anne reached for the buckle at her hip, intending to call it a night. Ann was certain to be sore in the morning, and she didn’t want to risk pushing her over the edge. 

“Not yet,” Ann panted, reaching out to cover Anne’s hand with her own. Anne hummed quizzically – surely Ann was sated? Tired? Worn out? From the look in her eyes, she was none of those things. Anne swallowed dryly. 

Ann sat up shakily, then kissed Anne’s lips, chin, collarbone, stomach. She stopped at the harness, looked up to catch Anne’s eye, then dipped her head to take the tip of the cock in her mouth. Anne moaned at the sight alone, then again at the feeling of the cock’s base pressing firmly against her center. Ann sunk to her knees between her legs and wrapped her fingers around the shaft, grinding it into Anne’s clit as she licked and sucked her own arousal from the silicone. Anne couldn’t tear her eyes from Ann, even as her hips rolled of their own accord and her release started to coil in her belly. She was lightly humping the air, desperate to increase the pressure on her clit. Ann trailed kisses across her hips, never slowly the rhythm of her hand. Anne moaned lowly as her hips bucked and waves of pleasure rolled over her. She went limp, panting at the ceiling. 

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Ann purred. She caught Anne’s lips in a teasing kiss. Anne again brought her hand weakly to the buckle at her hip, but, again, Ann caught her. “Just one more, Pony,” she begged.

“What?” Anne panted. 

By way of an answer, Ann scrambled to her hands and knees, presenting her perfectly round ass and looking at Anne over her shoulder with raised eyebrows. Anne chuckled breathlessly at the ceiling. She was absolutely going to marry this girl. 

“Is that what it is?” Anne growled as she lifted herself onto her knees. “Three rounds isn’t enough for you?” She slapped Ann lightly on the ass. Ann gasped and nodded. “You’re just dripping for me, aren’t you?” She slapped the other cheek. Another gasp, another nod.

She positioned herself behind Ann, then bent to trace a path of wet kisses along her spine. Ann started pushing her hips back, as if she could slip herself onto Anne’s cock without Anne knowing, but Anne held her hips firmly. She dragged the tip of her cock through Ann’s folds, mingling her arousal with the slick wetness from Ann’s mouth just moments ago. 

“Fuck me, Anne, please,” Ann was panting, as needy as she’d ever heard her. Anne considered teasing her, but then Ann turned her head over her shoulder and caught her eye. She was so desperate, wrecked, breathless. Anne couldn’t deny her any longer.

Anne aligned her cock and slid into Ann’s clutching depths slowly; she was rewarded with a low moan. Anne pulled back just as slowly, leaving only the tip inside. She pushed back in, repeating this process a few more times, before she pulled out entirely. 

Ann’s head whipped over her shoulder, her eyes wide and stricken, her jaw hanging open. Anne grinned fiendishly, then slammed her full length back in. Ann cried out and dropped her head to the mattress. Anne pounded into her mercilessly, digging her strong hands into Ann’s hips, delighting in the filthy sound of their skin slapping together. She rutted into the younger woman like she was angry, and Ann’s high-pitched whimpers only spurred her on. Anne bent over her, pressing her chest to Ann’s sweaty back, and nipped at her ear. 

“That’s right, love, take it. Let my cock split you open,” Anne growled in her ear. “You take me so well. God, you make me so fucking hot.”

Ann was nodding and whimpering, but she seemed incapable of speech. Anne felt a grin cover her face, and she straightened to continue to thrust into the girl with reckless abandon. Ann was close, she could tell, but Anne didn’t want her to finish. She never wanted to leave this moment. She could feel her own clit rubbing deliciously against the base of her cock with each thrust; her own orgasm threatened to blow her away. 

“Anne,” she heard weakly from in front of her, “please, I’m so close.” Ann was rutting back into Anne’s thrusts, desperate for release. Anne moved a hand down to her clit, stroking it with knowing fingers until she felt the familiar signs of Ann’s coming undone: her soft whimpers in the affirmative, the clenching of her inner walls, the impossible arch of her back. Anne continued to thrust into her through her orgasm; she was so close, just a few more strokes against her clit, and she would be there.

“I love you,” she gasped as she collapsed onto Ann with a shudder. Ordinarily, Anne avoided such a declaration in such a moment, but she couldn’t help herself. She loved Ann, not just for her kindness and her goodness, but also for her dirtiness and wantonness, for the way she moaned and writhed and fucked. 

Anne pulled out slowly, then fell onto her back, cock in the air, for the third time that night. This time, when she reached her hand to the buckle at her hip, Ann didn’t stop her. Anne pulled the harness off and tossed it over the side of the bed. Ann rolled onto her side to face her; she was still panting, her chest and face still flushed, but she was smiling. Anne kissed her lightly, then pulled away to grin back at her. 

“I love you,” Anne whispered before she caught Ann’s lips in another chaste kiss. 

“I love you,” Ann nodded and heaved herself up to the pillows. Anne followed, tossing the stray clothes onto the floor. She wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist, pressing her front flush against Ann’s back. Ann sighed in contentment as Anne pulled the sheets up around their slick, naked bodies. 

“So how’d I do? Did I pick the right one?” Ann teased. Anne laughed and nipped her earlobe. She wanted to think of something to say, something witty and playful and clever, as exhaustion crept over her, dragging her eyelids down. The perfect response died on her tongue; she was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...here we are. Did I do okay? Felt a little pressure to deliver some oomph with this one. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos help me stay motivated and keep writing.


	25. Wednesday Morning

Good Lord, what a night. Ann smiled at the memory, letting images flood her mind as she woke slowly. Just the thought of Anne on her, behind her, inside her made her shiver. Anne had been so gentle, then so primal. Ann relished the spectrum of their lovemaking – there was tenderness and ferocity and speed and affection, all in equal parts. The sight of Anne alone – God, but the feeling of her. Not just the strap itself, but the way Anne behaved when she was wearing it. There was a heightened sense of confidence, if that was even possible. A deepening of their connection, maybe. Or, not deeper, but different. They were able to hold each other in a different way. She felt fresh arousal rush to her still-recovering core and made a mental note to give that thing a 5-star review. She had never been so satisfied with a purchase. 

As she woke more fully, Ann started to shift uncomfortably in bed. Every inch of her body ached. She rolled onto her back with considerable effort, closing her eyes and breathing deeply as she assessed the damage. Neck? Stiff. Arms? Sore. Legs? Sore. Between her legs? Incredibly sore. Back? Thrown impossibly out of whack. She groaned at the ceiling. Why hadn’t she listened to Anne’s warnings? She’d been so greedy last night, and now she was paying for it.

As the cold morning light filled the room, she started to doubt herself. Her body ached, her muscles pulsed with pain, her head pounded. Anne had done this to her, she decided. She would never be in this kind of pain if Anne had left her alone, had never come calling unannounced, hadn’t finagled her way so smoothly into Ann’s life, heart, and bed. Ann had heard Anne was a skirtchaser, a “love ‘em and leave ‘em” type, and now, surely, she would leave her. She’d see Ann, so thoroughly diminished, and realize how insufficient she was. Anne would finally understand that Ann would never be enough for her, could never keep up, would only ever slow her down. Ann felt herself hardening as the minutes ticked by; Anne had put her in this painful place, and now she would leave. 

The bedroom door creaked open, but Ann didn’t bother turning her head. It wasn’t worth the pain. Anne crept to her bedside, set down a glass of water and stroked her forehead, a steaming bowl in her other hand. Ann couldn’t see what was in it. Anne bent to kiss her softly, but Ann turned her head, offering only her cheek, even as her neck protested. 

“How are you?” Anne asked. 

“Sore,” Ann pouted, trying to look as pitiful as possible.

“I was afraid of that,” Anne rounded the bed and crawled in to kneel next to Ann’s head. Ann noted she still had her muddy shoes on. She was just going to reprimand her when her back pulsed anew. She twisted uncomfortably in bed. Anne clicked her tongue sympathetically, “I’m sorry, Adney.”

“No, it’s – it’s fine.”

“Can you sit up?”

Even lifting her head and shoulders to try to sit up hurt. Ann fell back into the pillow with a sigh and a shake of the head.

“You should eat,” Anne said carefully. Ann shook her head. Anne tried again, more forcefully, “Adney, yes, you must. I’ve got oatmeal here for you – fresh fruit, some brown sugar. The works. Can I help you sit up?”

“No, Anne, you can’t.” Ann snapped, “I’m in rather a lot of pain, and no thanks to you for that. Last night was a mistake. It was too much. I can’t handle – that – again,” even as she said it, Ann knew it wasn’t true, but she was in so much pain. It was satisfying to blame Anne, to have someone to lash out on. “So if you’ll leave me here, I’ll recover eventually. I’m sure you have more important things to do – go walk or read or write or something. Just go. I know you want to.”

The silence that followed almost made Ann regret her words, but she was still exceedingly grouchy. Pissed off. And in pain. Anne had put her through rather a lot last night, hadn’t she? Ann pushed away the voice in her head reminding her that she’d wanted it, asked for it, enjoyed it, hadn’t regretted a moment of it until just now. Now she was hurting and frustrated. Anne was antsy to get on with her day, surely, and Ann couldn’t get out of bed. Couldn’t she just go and leave Ann alone? 

“Ann, listen to me carefully,” Anne’s voice was measured and slow. Ann wanted to turn her head to see her expression, but she was still pouting. Not to mention the sore neck. “I am sorry that you are – that I hurt you. I am not sorry for or regretful of last night, insofar as it brought both of us pleasure. I am, however, incredibly sorry to have caused you one iota of pain. I love you, and I would rather never touch you again than see you like this again. I do not want to go anywhere. I have nothing more important to do than take care of you today, or any day. And you must believe that. Because it’s the truth. Now, I’m going to feed you this oatmeal and lie down on this bed, and we’re not going to get up until you’re ready. Understood?”

Ann was grateful she hadn’t turned her head to face Anne, because she would have a lot more trouble hiding her tears. Anne was so eloquent and understanding and patient with her. She’d tried to push Anne away, out of pain or frustration or both, and Anne hadn’t even gotten angry. Ann wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d been upset, stormed out, gone cold and aloof, but she hadn’t done any of those things. She’d seen through Ann’s attacks to the root of the problem; she’d recognized Ann’s pain underscoring all of it. Fuck, Ann thought, I don’t deserve her. 

“Understood,” she said weakly, trying to hide the quaver in her voice. “I’m – I –”

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” Anne soothed. “Does your head hurt?” 

“God, yes,” Ann sighed.

“Dehydration. Totally normal. I brought you a glass of water, here –” Anne reached over her to the nightstand for the glass. She slid one hand softly under Ann’s head, held the glass to her lips. Ann drank greedily. She really was incredibly thirsty, but she hadn’t even noticed. Anne pulled the glass away and set it on her nightstand. “Better?”

“Yes,” Ann breathed, “how did you know?”

“You, uh, lost a lot of body fluid last night. You have to rehydrate.”

Ann laughed at Anne’s bluntness, then winced; her stomach was sore too.

“Do you have any pain killers up here?” Anne asked. 

“Bathroom cabinet,” Ann managed.

Anne scrambled out of bed; Ann heard her heavy tread across the room, onto the tile, then her rooting around the medicine cabinet. Soon she was back, settling in next to Ann and offering her a muscle relaxer and the two small pills prescribed by Ann’s psychiatrist. Ann turned her head sharply to look at Anne, ignoring the pain in her neck. 

“These were in your cabinet. I know you said you take medicine, and … these were right there in the front, and it said daily, and I’ve never seen you take these at night, so I figured …” Anne trailed off. Ann smiled back at her; had anyone ever been this attuned to her needs? Ann felt a fresh wave of remorse for her words earlier. 

“Anne…” She started.

“No, sorry, I’ll –” Anne moved to stand up, but Ann caught her wrist.

“I’m sorry. I was rude and short and … grumpy, earlier. And you’re so thoughtful and kind. Thank you, Anne. Seriously. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

Anne smiled softly, nodded, then offered Ann the pills. She took them dryly, accepting another sip of the proffered water glass. 

“How about some oatmeal?” Anne held up the steaming bowl. Ann nodded.

For several minutes, Anne spoon-fed her oatmeal mixed with fruit slices and sugar. She was all gentleness and patience, turning her spoon into an airplane, a train, a horse to make Ann laugh. Ann felt her muscles loosen, her aches lessen, her whole body relax under Anne’s care. She felt warm all over, and not just from the oatmeal. 

Anne set the now-empty bowl aside, then scooted down lower into bed so that her head was level with Ann’s. Anne’s deep brown eyes studied hers with an intensity that only made Ann warmer. Anne reached for her hand and brought it slowly to her lips, never breaking eye contact. 

“I didn’t mean it, what I said earlier,” Ann said softly. “Last night was not a mistake. I love you, and I love the way we are together. I –” she chuckled weakly, “I love the way you make me feel. You did everything I asked. That wasn’t fair – to blame you like that. I have a weak spine; this was bound to happen.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. I think I have to get used to it. I already feel a lot better than when I woke up.”

“We don’t have to –” Anne started, but Ann shook her head. 

“I want to. Not right now,” she laughed, “but I did rather like it.”

“Did you?” Anne purred. 

“God, Pony, yes,” Ann laughed again. “I’m feeling hot right now just thinking about it.” 

Anne grinned and kissed the back of her hand again. Ann thought if she could bottle the look on Anne’s face right now, she would never feel pain again. 

“What now?” Anne asked. 

“Usually, when I’m laid up like this, and I’m alone, I watch something on my computer.”

“Like what?”

“Love Island.”

“No!” Anne said slowly, her voice sliding from disbelief to laughter. “You don’t really watch that!”

“Oh yeah,” Ann nodded seriously, “it’s amazing. Here, my laptop is on the dresser. We’ll watch some.”

Anne groaned playfully and retrieved the computer. She had just put one knee back on the bed before Ann stopped her.

“For God’s sake, Pony, take those muddy shoes off. You’re getting our bed all dirty.”

Anne grinned as she tugged her sneakers off, letting them thud against the ground before crawling back into bed and kissing Ann soundly. She pulled back breathlessly, studied Ann for a moment, then dove back in. Finally, she drew back and fell into the pillows. 

“What was that for?” Ann teased. 

“You said ‘our bed.’”

“Sure,” Ann wasn’t following. “Whose bed would it be?”

“Well, it’s our bed,” Anne explained. “Not yours or mine. I don’t think I’ve ever – I don’t think anyone has ever shared a bed with me like that.” Anne looked down, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “It’s always my bed, or theirs, or, worse, theirs and their husband’s.” She stole a tentative look at Ann before returning her focus to her shirt. “It means – um, it feels important to me.”

Ann studied her profile. This handsome, confident, swaggering woman, who had seen through Ann’s insecurities so plainly, who had addressed Ann’s fears without Ann recognizing them herself, who had nursed her physical and emotional pain with patience worthy of a saint. She had her own fears and insecurities and pain. She hid them well, much better than Ann, but they were still there. That someone as caring and generous and stunning as Anne Lister could have faced so much rejection and heartache baffled her. She leaned forward, ignoring the ache in her neck and back, and caught Anne’s lips in a gentle kiss.

“I love you, Anne, and so long as I have a cottage or a room, half will be for you. Always.”

Anne kissed her once more, deeply. Ann thought she could feel a message on Anne’s lips, but she couldn’t decipher it. Somewhere between “I love you” and “I’m scared,” “thank you” and “don’t leave me.” Ann pulled away slowly, then kissed Anne once more, then reached between them for her laptop. 

“Don’t think this gets you out of watching Love Island,” she teased. 

Anne groaned playfully, but settled into the sheets, nudging her head to share Ann’s pillow and slipping an arm under Ann’s shoulders. Ann balanced the laptop between them, resting on their thighs, and snuggled into Anne’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter based on the entry "I sat by her very affectionately - gave her her gruel ... nursed her very tenderly - the more so as she was suffering from having had me last night ... never thought I should have made her suffer so much - would never let me do so again" October 16, 1832. And the Ann Walker letter "as long as I have a cottage or a room, the half will be for you" December 27, 1833. I didn't intend to use the Walker quote, but it ended up fitting with where the chapter went. Ann is such a complicated character; one minute she's pushing Anne away, the next she's pulling her in. I find her a little bit elusive to write - I'm anxious to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Your feedback is so so encouraging and very much appreciated.


	26. Wednesday Afternoon

Anne Lister did not enjoy Love Island. She did not beg Ann to explain the intricate backstories of each contestant. She did not shush Ann’s attempts at conversation so that she could pay closer attention. She did not invest her energy in the happiness of drunk, bumbling 20-year-olds. She definitely did not keep watching even after Ann fell asleep on her chest. Of course not. Because that would mean Anne Lister cared about a reality show. 

By late afternoon, Anne was spent from the emotional roller coaster of the season, and Ann was snoring softly into her shoulder. To be fair, she was also tired from the previous night. She was getting a little old to be up late screwing around, a little old to be rolling around in bed with a girl a decade her junior, a little old to bending said girl over, even as the thought sent a flush to her center. Anne twisted her hips at the memory, then winced when she heard a loud pop. She was definitely getting old. 

This morning, though, that was something else entirely. She was getting better at recognizing Ann’s moods, and even though her words still stung, Ann wasn’t trying to hurt her on purpose. Years of juggling Mariana’s capricious ways turned out to be pretty good practice. More than that, Anne felt confident about Ann in a way she never felt about Mariana. For perhaps the first time, she didn’t take a lover’s insecurities as an excuse to shut down, storm out, or roll into bed with someone else. Instead she treated Ann’s words with the same careful precision she brought to her research. She took it apart, traced it to the root, then expressed her own position on the matter.

And it had worked! At least, so far it had. Ann had perked up, had said that thing about “our bed,” had accepted Anne’s kisses, had allowed herself to be folded into Anne’s embrace. Ann’s moods were fickle, prone to insecurity and doubts, and knowing that helped Anne not take the words to heart. It also helped to remind herself how Ann felt in her arms last night, how Ann laughed at her jokes, how Ann always kissed her like she had immortality on her lips. A few hours of soothing and caretaking were nothing in comparison to the euphoria Ann provided. 

Anne was ripped from her reverie, however, by the Skype tone. A tiny icon of Ann’s sister popped into the center of the screen; Anne recognized her from Ann’s portraits and photos around the house. She looked anxiously at Ann, still asleep on her shoulder. The tone sounded again. Anne shifted her shoulder in an effort to rouse her. Nothing. The tone sounded again. 

“Ann!” Anne whispered, as if Elizabeth was already in the room. The tone sounded again. Ann opened her eyes groggily, that sleepy smile spreading across her face. Ann kissed her shoulder softly. The tone sounded again. Ann’s eyes swung to the laptop, widened, then swung back to Anne. 

“Should we answer it?” Ann asked. Anne shrugged. She wasn’t sure the timing was right or how Elizabeth would react to meeting her, to their being in bed together (albeit, fully dressed). Ann’s excited grin told her everything she needed to know. Ann answered the call. 

The thin face of Elizabeth Sutherland filled the screen, a warm smile on her face. Anne watched the smile falter, the brows furrow, the eyes narrow. She was trying to figure out why Anne Lister was shoulder-to-shoulder with her baby sister. Just as Anne studied her background and realized she was in her kitchen, Elizabeth studied their background and realized they were in bed. Well, Anne thought, at least it’s all out in the open. 

“Hi, Liz!” Ann said brightly. Then, noting her sister’s confused look, rushed: “um, Anne is here with me. She’s, uh, she’s been staying with me for about a week now. Mrs. Barclay got sick, and we thought it might be the virus. It looks like it isn’t, but we’re trying to be safe. Anyway, one thing led to another, and we’re, uh, we’re together now. We’re dating, I guess?” Ann turned to Anne frantically as she sucked in a deep breath. 

“Hello,” Anne said through a nervous smile. Dating – that sounded nice. She hoped they’d be more than ‘dating’ by the end of this week, but she figured it was good to meet the family before then. Might seem a bit rushed otherwise. 

“Hello, Dr. Lister,” Elizabeth said tentatively. “This is – a surprise.”

“It was to us too,” Ann said quickly. “We didn’t mean for it to happen, but we really like each other. We get along, and – and it’s been nice to have her hear, especially with everything going on. We’re –”

“Ann,” Elizabeth soothed, “you’re twenty-nine years old, you don’t need to explain yourself to me. You two look happy.”

“We are,” Ann grinned. “How are you? How are the kids?”

Anne only half-listened to their conversation, not really able to follow the cast of characters and hyper-specific references volleyed between the sisters. It was enough for her to soak up the affection she could never capture with Marian, to feel the warm press of Ann’s thigh against hers, to stroke her hand along Ann’s arm, just out of frame. 

“Dr. Lister,” Elizabeth’s voice turned serious, “I want to talk to you. By yourself.”

“Um, sure,” Anne snapped into focus, “I can call you tomorrow, or –”

“Right now, I think,” Elizabeth was stern. “Ann, can you –”

“My back, Liz, it’s messed up today.”

“Go in the hallway,” Elizabeth said quickly. “Take the laptop in the hallway.”

Anne nodded, then looked at Ann, who also nodded. She sat up and took the laptop, giving Ann’s hand a light squeeze on her way out the door. She stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. 

“Okay, good,” Elizabeth said, “now, what are you doing with my sister?”

“I mean,” Anne started, “I’m, uh, dating her, I guess is the phrase.”

“Are you having sex?”

“Well…” Anne hedged, hoping to avoid the specifics.

“Eliza Priestly called me.” Elizabeth said simply.

“Yes,” Anne sighed, “we are, um, having sex.” 

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you been having sex with my sister?”

“About a week?” Anne winced.

“How long have you been staying there?”

“10 days.”

“Anne,” Elizabeth sighed. “If you’re screwing around with her –”

“I’m not! Really, I’m not. I’m very serious about her. I know it’s fast, I know that, but – she’s a grown woman, Elizabeth. I’m not taking advantage of her. She knows what she wants. Seriously. We’ve had a lot of conversations about – what we’re doing. We both have our eyes open about this.”

Elizabeth nodded. Anne bit her lip. Would she buy it? Did she believe her?

“Ann is a special person,” Elizabeth said carefully. “She’s been through a lot. She seems fragile, but she’s actually incredibly strong.”

“I know that.”

“She’s had a crush on you for years. Do you know that?”

“She mentioned it;” Anne was surprised to find she felt embarrassed that Elizabeth knew this. 

“Almost her entire life, okay? She used to talk about you constantly. She would rehash your visits over and over, and we would have to analyze every single thing you said and did and wore and ate. You were like David Bowie, Justin Timberlake, and every single one of the Spice Girls combined. You cannot imagine how much you mean to her.”

Anne bit her lip as she digested Elizabeth’s words. She had been aware, through the years, of her effect on women. She’d even been faintly aware of her effect on Ann, all that time ago. It was flattering, sure, and most of the time, Anne enjoyed mixing a bit of some poor girl’s adoration with her flirting. With Ann, though, it scared her. It heaped pressure on their relationship, on Anne. If she fucked this up, she wouldn’t just hurt Ann, she’d be shattering years of dreaming, yearning, and pining. She will have given Ann her deepest wish, then crushed it. From the look in her eyes, Elizabeth knew this just as well as Anne did. 

“I understand,” Anne said slowly. “I really do. Of course, I don’t know exactly what it’s like for her, but, Elizabeth, I’m so sincere when I tell you this. I love Ann. I do. I have never cared about someone the way I care about her. I – look,” Anne rooted around in her pocket and pulled out the small round box she’d been toying with on her walk that morning. “I bought this last week. I’m serious about her. I want to marry her. I’m not asking your permission, but I would like your – uh, blessing I guess. And your understanding. That I’m in this for real.”

Elizabeth considered for a moment, searching Anne’s eyes through the computer as if assessing her sincerity. Then she nodded. Then she smiled. 

“I have heard a lot of unflattering things about you,” Elizabeth said, “but I believe you.” Anne grinned; she’d done it. “Now if you hurt her, Lister, I just want you to know – nobody will find your body.”

Anne’s face fell, then Elizabeth laughed. 

“Kidding!” Elizabeth laughed. Anne joined her. “Except I’m serious.” Anne’s face fell again. “Okay, Lister, I’m done with you. Give Ann a kiss for me.” 

Elizabeth’s face vanished, and Anne sighed back into the wall. She was sweaty, her heart was racing, her throat was dry. She was usually good at talking to families, at smoothing over sisters and fathers and husbands. It was different with Ann. Everything was different with Ann. 

She set her shoulders, shoved the box back in her pocket, and went back into the bedroom. Ann giggled as Anne pounced on her, kissing her soundly. Anne settled her knees on either side of Ann’s thighs and cupped her face in her hands. Ann moaned into her mouth, reaching up to wrap her hands in Anne’s hair. 

“What?” Ann breathed when they separated. 

“Your sister told me to give you a kiss for her,” Anne said innocently.

“I don’t know if she meant that kind of kiss,” Ann laughed. Anne cut her laughter off with another searing kiss.

“I love you,” Anne grinned. She kissed Ann again. “And your sister just threatened to murder me.” 

“She what?” Ann laughed.

“Oh yeah,” Anne teased, “and she said – she might not want me to tell you this, but she said you might have a little crush on me.”

“Oh no, that was a secret!” Ann protested through her wide smile. She pulled Anne down for another kiss, and Anne let herself relax into her arms. Anne ground her hips into Ann’s; the small round box in her pocket pressed into her thigh. 

It was difficult, this waiting. Anne wanted to jump forward, to that time when she and Ann were happily ensconced in Shibden. Or maybe she could just skip to Friday evening, the time she had mentally carved out for the ring. Hell, if she could just fast forward to the moment Ann would be ready for her again, when her back was healed and she wasn’t so sore and Anne could…Anne nipped at Ann’s lips at the thought. She kissed Ann’s chin, nipped at her earlobe, traced a stripe down her neck with her tongue. Ann arched into her with a moan, then winced. Anne sighed and pulled away. It was difficult, this waiting. 

“Sorry, Anne, I –”

“It’s okay,” Anne smiled before kissing Ann one more time, softly. “I’m going to take a shower, hmm?” 

Ann nodded, and Anne stepped into the bathroom. She leaned against the wall, breathing deeply in an attempt to still her racing heart. Keeping her hands off of Ann was proving nearly impossible. Anne had always had a healthy – perhaps more than healthy – sex drive, but she wouldn’t pressure Ann, wouldn’t touch her until she was ready. 

She tugged off her walking clothes, stashed the small round box on the highest shelf of the medicine cabinet, turned on the water. It was perfectly normal she would shower now. She hadn’t had the chance this morning, and the rest of the day had gotten away from her. It had absolutely no connection to the arousal coursing through her body. Anne stepped into the warm spray, and it was already over. She couldn’t resist trailing her hand between her legs, already wet from a day spent so close to Ann without touching her. She circled her clit, her mind flooding with images of Ann – beneath her, on her knees, hand on Anne’s cock. Anne’s hips jerked forward at the memory; she closed her eyes, focusing on the way Ann had felt, the sounds she had made. It didn’t take long – soon enough, Anne was shuddered against the slick tile. 

She straightened and stepped further into the spray; the warm water pelted her skin. Anne reviewed her Friday night plan as she scrubbed her body. It was difficult, this waiting, but by God, it would be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Happy Birthday Anne Lister! If I can get myself together, we'll have two chapters today in celebration!
> 
> Like I said when I first started writing this, I prefer writing these two happy and I think we have enough going on right now without injecting angst here. That said, I hope I'm not undermining Anne and Ann by writing them too sappy or sanitized. I'm trying to stay grounded with the diaries while still adding in my own spin. What do y'all think? Your feedback helps me figure out what the heck I'm doing here.


	27. Wednesday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spending the whole day on the couch writing filth? It feels like a fitting way to celebrate Anne's birthday.

“Would you rub my back?” Ann asked as Anne put on her pajamas. They’d eaten sandwiches in bed, trying and failing to keep crumbs off the sheets. Anne had taken their plates downstairs, then spent rather a long time writing in her journal while Ann dozed. The muscle relaxer had worn off by now, and she felt almost back to 100%. Her back was a little sore still, likely from lying flat all day. Besides, she wanted an excuse for Anne to put her hands on her. 

Anne had kept it above the waist all day, but Ann could tell she wanted her. Anne was decidedly bad at hiding her desire – her hips too insistent, her hands forever roaming, her lips always opening. Ann appreciated her control, especially when she was still sore, but now she felt the soreness lifting. Maybe not entirely, but … enough for something gentle. Something like a back rub.

“Sure,” Anne said and went into the bathroom to retrieve Dr. Day’s cream. Ann rolled over onto her stomach, propping her head on her folded arms. She watched Anne saunter to the bed and lick her lips. Ann couldn’t repress her smile; Anne was so obvious sometimes. Anne knelt over her and slid her warm hands under Ann’s shirt; she bunched it up around Ann’s shoulders, then clicked her tongue. 

“Will you take this off?” she whispered. Ann rolled onto her back, still between Anne’s knees, and slipped the shirt over her head. She stared up at Anne for a beat, her chest bare, her eyes daring Anne; she thought she saw Anne’s fingers twitch, but Anne remained stock-still. Ann rolled back onto her stomach. 

“Dirty trick, Miss Walker,” Anne chided as she started to rub light circles into Ann’s shoulders. “Tempting me like that when there’s nothing I can do about it.” 

“Who said you can’t do anything about it?” Ann asked, then closed her eyes as she relaxed into Anne’s touch. Anne was actually quite good at this; then again, it seemed like she was good at almost everything. Her hands were firm, but tender. She worked slowly, humming tunelessly to herself. Soon the room was filled with the scent of liniment and the sound of Ann’s soft moans. 

Anne’s warm fingers trailed along Ann’s neck, pressing softly into the juncture between neck and shoulder. Ann bit her lip at the sensation, feeling herself sink more deeply into the mattress. Anne ground the heels of her hands into her shoulders, working the knots slowly and methodically. Ann moaned lowly through her teeth, and she heard Anne chuckle above her. Anne’s strong knuckles pressed into her trapezus. Ann felt her muscles relax, and she shifted her head from her arms to the pillow. She stretched her arms above her, burying the side of her face into her pillow. Anne pressed into her more firmly, augmenting the movement of her hands with a roll of her hips. Ann’s hands grasped the pillow, her fingers tightening in the soft down; she couldn’t stop the way her hips lifted from the bed, the way her ass pressed into the warm cradle between Anne’s legs. Anne chuckled again and shifted down to kneel over Ann’s thighs. 

She ran her fingertips along Ann’s sides; she slipped her fingers between Ann’s chest and the sheets to trace softly along Ann’s ribs. Ann shifted below her; she was teetering between laughing at the tickling sensation and begging Anne to stop all this teasing. Anne reached the waistband of Ann’s skimpy pajama shorts. She dipped her thumbs underneath; Ann lifted her hips almost imperceptibly, hoping Anne would take the hint. Slowly, Anne eased her shorts down to her thighs, then started massaging her behind. The feeling of Anne kneading her ass was strangely erotic; Ann could feel the warmth of Anne’s hands travel all the way to her toes, up to her face, in between her legs. She lifted her hips again, praying Anne would move between her legs, when she felt those warm, knowing hands trail down to her thighs.

“Anne,” she whined. Was she really going to keep torturing Ann like this? Anne shifted down further over her legs, then started a gentle rhythm gripping and pressing and rubbing the backs of her thighs. 

“Patience, Adney,” Anne whispered above her. Ann felt her hot breath on her back, followed by the soft press of lips to the base of Ann’s spine. Ann whimpered into the pillow. 

She felt arousal flood between her legs as Anne’s determined fingers slipped her shorts off, then gently massaged her thighs. Anne’s hands were so large that she easily circled Ann’s legs as she pressed her thumbs into Ann’s increasingly warm skin. Ann felt tension seeping from her tired muscles, replaced by desire coursing through her veins. She gripped the pillow more tightly as Anne’s fingertips tickled her knees, then resumed their rhythmic pressing into her calves. Ann’s toes curled. Anne shifted backward, the bed dipping behind Ann’s feet. Anne’s hands squeezed her ankles, then pulled away. Ann whimpered at the loss, then grinned when she felt Anne lightly slap her ass. She lifted her hips from the bed, silently asking for another. She heard Anne chuckle, then she was rewarded with another slap. 

“All done,” came Anne’s low, smug voice. “Do you feel relaxed?”

Ann flipped onto her back, biting her lip, trying to give a sultry look. She wasn’t sure she succeeded, but Anne descended onto her anyway, catching her lips in a slow, deep kiss. Ann reached up for her, desperate to feel the press of Anne’s lithe body against hers. She ran her hands under Anne’s shirt. Her skin was so warm and smooth; Ann could feel the muscles of her back shifting under her hands. She bunched up the shirt, tugged it insistently, until Anne pulled away with a smile. She threw her shirt to the floor, cocking her head to the side as she ran her hands along Ann’s warm sides. 

Anne’s bare chest stretched above her, Ann reached up to trace her fingertips along Anne’s abs, across her ribs, up the valley between her breasts. Ann had assumed Anne didn’t like to have her breasts touched, but tonight she covered them lightly. Anne’s eyes slipped closed; she leaned into Ann’s touch. Anne’s nipples were hard against her palms, an intensely erotic and powerful feeling travelling up Ann’s arms and into her chest. Anne brought her hands up to cover Ann’s hands, pressed them more firmly against her, then brought one to her lips. She kissed Ann’s palm softly, then pressed Ann’s arm back into the mattress. She repeated the process with the other arm, and Ann found herself deliciously trapped. 

Anne dipped her head to catch Ann’s lips. Ann arched into Anne’s chest, and she was delighted to find every ache in her body had vanished. She was lost to the sensation of Anne all around her. The press of Anne’s body against hers, the tailored strength of her hands around Ann’s wrists, the slick slide of their tongues. Anne shifted on her knees to push Ann’s legs apart, then ground her sweats-clad knee into Ann’s core. Ann moaned at the contact, and soon her hips started a slow rocking rhythm. 

“Pony,” she whispered, “don’t tease.” Anne nipped at her earlobe, then released her wrists to catch Ann’s face in her hands. Anne placed wet kisses along her jaw, then down her neck. Ann trailed her fingers through Anne’s brown locks, traced the long column of her neck, then pushed lightly on her shoulders. Anne raised her head, a surprised smile on her face. Ann waggled her eyebrows. She had no time to waste; she needed Anne now. 

“You,” Anne whispered against her chest, “are,” she kissed between Ann’s breasts, “impossible.” She punctuated her words with soft kisses as she travelled down Ann’s chest: “I ought to teach you some manners.” She traced her tongue along the soft curve of Ann’s belly. “Pushing me between your legs?” Ann laughed breathlessly and ran her hand through Anne’s hair, scratching her nails along Anne’s scalp. “Naughty girl,” Anne whispered, her breath hot against Ann’s core. 

Ann was so desperate, her need for Anne so urgent, that the first pass of Anne’s tongues between her folds had her seeing stars. Ann could feel Anne’s smile as she tangled her fingers in Anne’s hair, pulling her closer. Anne wrapped her hands around her thighs; her tongue lapped against her center with measured, firm strokes. Ann was lost – the straining in her thighs, the coil of pleasure in her gut, the fire between her legs burning higher and higher. Anne held her hips in place with those strong hands – God, those hands, Ann thought as she arched her back. Soon she couldn’t think at all, her mind overwhelmed by the exquisite pressure of Anne’s tongue, the firm grasp of Anne’s hands, the perfect suction of her lips. Distantly, Ann heard her own incoherent mumbling as waves of pleasure crashed into her. Anne’s mouth slowed, then stilled as Ann caught her breath.

When she opened her eyes, Anne was hovering over her. Her face still glistened with Ann’s arousal, and Ann reached up to bring their lips together. She moaned at the taste of herself on Anne’s lips and tongue, reveling in the heady intimacy of it. Anne pulled back, running her hands up Ann’s bent legs. She was stunning like this, Ann realized. Ann thought she was gorgeous, handsome, captivating at all times, but this primal, red-faced, pleased-with-herself Anne was something else. Ann felt a fresh wave of arousal, a renewed need to be possessed by her. 

“Would you…” Ann trailed off. She wasn’t sure how to ask for what she wanted – embarrassed to say it out loud, but too far gone in her desire to resist. She traced her hand up Anne’s inner thigh and cupped her center; Anne’s lips parted, and her jaw twitched. Ann grinned – she adored having this effect on her. Ann dipped her hand into Anne’s sweats and dragged her fingertips lightly through her wet folds. Anne sighed and fell forward, planting her hands on either side of Ann’s head. “I want you to fuck me, Pony,” Ann whispered into her ear. “I want to feel you inside me,” she brought her fingertips to Anne’s clit. “I need you inside me,” Ann sped up; “I need your cock inside me.” Ann nipped at her earlobe.

Anne was panting, nodding furiously, her hips bucking against Ann’s hand. Ann brought her free hand over Anne’s hip, squeezing her firm ass. She moved more quickly, her fingertips slipping over Anne’s clit in a frenzy. 

“Come for me, Pony,” she whispered in Anne’s ear, “come for me, and then I’m going to fuck you and that perfect cock.” Ann wasn’t sure where these filthy words were coming from, but they worked. Anne trembled over her, collapsing in a gasping, bucking heap on her chest. Ann slowed her fingers and ran her other hand up and down Anne’s slick back. 

Slowly, Anne came back to herself and pressed a wet kiss to Ann’s clavicle. Ann grinned at her as she heaved herself onto her knees. Unravelling Anne Lister was a singular pleasure. Ann felt a warmth spread through her chest at the sight of her, breathless and wrecked. I did that, Ann thought proudly. 

“Did you mean it?” Anne asked, her smug smile returning. She squeezed Ann’s calves at Ann’s nod, then scrambled out of bed. 

Ann watched her step into the harness, arousal coursing through her anew. Ann had never been attracted to the naked male form, had been repulsed by it really, but Anne Lister with a cock was almost enough to make her come again from the sight alone. Anne strode slowly to the bed, the bright pink appendage standing at attention. Ann wasn’t sure why, but she felt an intense urge to take it in her mouth. She sank to the floor on her knees and slipped the silicone between her lips. Anne moaned, her hips thrusting shallowly, her hand scratching lightly at Ann’s scalp. Ann pulled back and looked up at her. She was positively primal. 

Anne pulled her up by the elbows and kissed her, hard. She pushed Ann backwards, until Ann felt her knees hit the bed. Anne leaned over her, pressing her into the mattress. Ann scooted backward, pulling Anne with her until she was kneeling between her legs. She wrapped her legs around Anne’s back, moaning as the cock slid lightly over her folds. She flexed her thighs, trying to bring Anne into her, but Anne held back. She dipped her head to Ann’s breast, taking one between her lips and the other in her hand. Ann arched her back; the tension and expectation grew steadily in her core. Anne was lavishing her breasts with attention, but Ann was impatient.

“Pony, come on.” 

“Patience, darling,” Anne whispered against her chest.

“Fuck me, Pony,” Ann was growing desperate. “Take that perfect cock and fuck me.” She panted, “I need it, Pony. Fill me with your –”

Ann never got to finish, because Anne had thrust into her roughly. Ann’s arms fell back into mattress, her thighs tightening around Anne’s slim hips. She grasped at the sheets as Anne started a punishing rhythm, needing something, anything to keep her grounded. Anne’s arm wrapped around her back, her hand gripping the back of her neck. Ann moaned, pressing her head further into the pillow. She whimpered at the stretch, at the sensation of being filled, at the feeling of being so perfectly, completely possessed by Anne Lister. 

“Getting what you wanted?” Anne husked in her ear before sucking lightly at her jawline. Ann nodded, her eyes closed tight, then jolted when Anne’s fingertips met her clit. All coherent thought left her, only the feeling of Anne on her clit, Anne buried in her center, Anne on her neck. She could only focus on the slick sound of their skin meeting and her own breathy cries. Her release built to impossible heights until, finally, it crashed into her. Anne rutted into her through her orgasm; just as Ann felt her mind clear, a fresh wave crashed into her. She felt herself coming undone again, and then Anne was collapsing, trembling, mumbling her name. 

Ann didn’t know how long they lay there, panting and whispering soft affirmations. Eventually, Anne slid out of her and flopped onto her back. Ann rolled onto her side and traced her hand across Anne’s firm stomach. She tried to undo the harness, but it was more complicated than she thought. Anne chuckled and slid it off herself. Ann bit her lip; she was trying to be sexy, but she was too young, too inexperienced, too stupid to figure it out. 

Anne tossed the harness to the floor, then caught Ann’s chin. She searched her eyes for a long moment, then kissed her. 

“I love you, Adney.”

Ann rolled her eyes, still biting her lip in embarrassment. 

“I do,” Anne implored. 

“You’re infatuated. When the novelty of this over, you won’t feel –” Ann felt foolish, childish next to Anne, so worldly and experienced and clever. 

Anne cut her off with a searing kiss. Ann pulled away and shook her head. 

“I love you, Adney.” The look in Anne’s eyes was so penetrating and intense Ann wanted to look away. But she found herself mesmerized, entranced. Anne kissed her chastely. “I love you, Ann Walker. I’ll spend the rest of my life making you believe that, if that’s what you need.”

Ann nodded mutely, her throat constricting with unshed tears. She was working on believing Anne, on trusting herself and the connection they shared. Anne kissed her once more, then stood and retrieved fresh pajamas for each of them. They climbed into bed, and Anne held out her long arms, leaning against the headboard. Ann snuggled into her chest and wrapped her arms around her waist. 

“Can we watch Love Island?” Anne suggested. 

“Really?” Ann shot up, grinning. 

“Don’t tell anyone,” Anne whispered conspiratorially, then pecked Ann’s lips with her own. 

Ann opened her laptop and sunk into the sheets. Anne’s touches and words and kisses went a long way to ward off her doubts, but offering to watch her favorite reality show? That was true love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Your comments mean so much to me, and they really do help me continue to improve. Y'all are so, so encouraging and thoughtful and kind. Thank you!! I'm terrible at responding, but please know I treasure every comment. 
> 
> Ending based loosely on "she said I was infatuated - when the novelty was over I would not feel the same" October 4, 1832
> 
> P.S. how many times have y'all watched that Anne-Lister-in-pants-on-the-roof-with-a-sword video? For me it's 700.


	28. Thursday Morning

Anne was settled into her new routine, and it invigorated her. She rose early, gave Ann’s sleepy form a light squeeze, then strode out into the dark morning. She had retrieved the small round box, and she fiddled with it as she walked and rehearsed her speech. Anne fancied herself a wordsmith, a strong writer and speaker, but she was stumbling over herself with this one. Nothing sounded quite right. She would think she had captured it, and then it would slip away. By the time she slipped back into the bathroom, she still hadn’t found it. She thought she had organized the exact right combination of words in the shower, but by the time she stepped out and picked up her phone to write it down, it had vanished.

She watched Ann sleep as she dressed. Her hair was spread over the pillows in a wild, golden halo. Her small pale form was curled on its side, and her pink lips were parted as she snored softly. Anne smiled at the sight of her small puddle of drool. Ann was so childish and innocent at times, such a stark contrast to the wild and wanton woman of last night. 

Anne tidied the room quickly, picking up their discarded clothes, cleaning and storing the strap. She shook her head as she stowed the discrete black box in Ann’s drawer. It was sort of silly, wasn’t it? Ann buying her strap, then Anne using it at her command, cleaning up after her. Hold on - was she a kept woman? Was Ann her sugar daddy? What was the female form of that term? Anne looked back at the small, snoring woman on her pillow and chuckled softly at the thought. 

After leaving a glass of water on the nightstand, Anne trotted downstairs with her laptop. She had lost a day of work – not that she regretted it – and she needed to catch up. She set up in the library; the morning light was peaking weakly through the large windows. She settled into the desk and worked for a few hours without interruption.

Then there was a knock. Anne twisted in her chair, a smile half-formed on her lips; perhaps it was Ann, back for some naughty office hours. Instead, the door swung open to reveal James, a large box in his hands. Anne stood up, confused. 

“A local bookstore delivered this for Miss Walker. When she gets deliveries like these, she usually wants me to put them in here.” James huffed as he lowered the box to the floor. 

“Sure, right. Uh, thank you, James,” Anne nodded as he retreated. 

Anne sat down and turned back to her laptop. She wrote haltingly, her attention continually drifting back to the box on the floor. What had Ann ordered? They’d discussed books throughout the week, but Ann hadn’t mentioned an order of books coming through. She scanned her editor’s notes, attempting rewrites with half-hearted attention. The box was taunting her, barely visible at the edge of her vision. What the hell was in there? Anne finally relented and turned to face her new enemy. The box was about two feet long, six inches tall, a foot deep. Anne squinted, as if she could see through the cardboard. Who gets a book delivery during a pandemic anyway? That’s insane. The box was probably crawling with germs.

It needed wiping down. 

Anne retrieved a canister of wipes, cleaned the exterior, then reassessed her new nemesis. It was heavy. She could tell there were about a dozen books inside. She tapped her foot as she considered.

The contents would need wiping down as well.

She knelt and carefully cut open the box. She wiped off and examined each book. In total, there were fourteen, all titles Anne had coveted, had meant to read, and had mentioned to Ann. What a coincidence. She had just stood and started flipping through one when she felt warm arms circle her waist. Ann’s sharp chin hooked over her shoulder as she pressed her soft body into Anne’s back. 

“Hey,” Anne said, closing the book and squeezing Ann’s arm. 

“I see you found your surprise,” Ann said softly, and even though she couldn’t see it, Anne knew she was smiling. 

“Did you buy these for me?” she turned her head to look at Ann over her shoulder. Her grin was enormous. Ann’s bright eyes danced as she nodded. Anne kissed her quickly once, pulled away, then kissed her again. Ann’s arms tightened around her waist. 

“You said you wanted them, and I saw Whitley was doing deliveries, so…” Ann trailed off and ground her hips into Anne’s backside. Anne felt a surge of desire course through her. When was the last time she’d gotten such a thoughtful gift? When was the last time anyone had even listened to her talk about books? Never mind actually paying attention. She turned in Ann’s arms and cradled her face in her hands, then tilted her head to catch her lips in a deep kiss. Ann’s arms tightened around her waist.

“Thank you,” Anne whispered against her cheek. For a few moments they swayed there, in the light morning sun, wrapped in each other’s arms. Anne sighed into the embrace.

“What are you thinking about?” Ann asked, her breath hot against Anne’s neck. Anne chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered what to say. 

“I’m thinking about how much I’ve travelled,” Anne said honestly, “and the fact that you were right here the whole time. I’m thinking about the scrapes I’ve been in and the time I’ve wasted. And I’m thinking how grateful I am to heaven for the mercy of bringing me home.”

Ann looked up at her, with those damned blue eyes, her lip caught between her bright, white teeth. Anne groaned playfully and lifted Ann into her arms; this girl would be the death of her. Ann’s legs wrapped around her waist, and she giggled when Anne pressed her into the closed door. Anne shifted to balance Ann’s weight between one arm and the door as she flipped the lock. Ann grabbed her chin and kissed her hard. 

Anne ground her hips into Ann, squeezing her slender thighs. Ann laughed breathlessly and threw her head back against the door. She ran her hands along Anne’s neck and over her shoulders, as Anne pulled back to consider her. A hundred possibilities ran through her mind. Would she take Ann here, against the door? Or would she set her down, kneel between her legs, and toss a knee over her shoulder? What if she laid Ann out on the floor? Could she – 

“Anne?” Ann’s smile was a dare. It suddenly occurred to her that the book order was Ann’s elaborate form of seduction. She wanted this – Anne taking her roughly in the library, in the middle of the morning, not even 12 hours after she’d talked Anne into to screwing her senseless. With the cock she’d bought for her. Ann really was playing sugar mama. 

“This was your plan, wasn’t it?” Anne growled into her ear, pressing Ann more firmly into the door so she could slip her hand to the button of her jeans. Ann smiled coyly, shifting her hips so Anne could dip her hand into her underwear. Anne nipped at her lips, delighting in the wetness she found between Ann’s legs. Ann draped her arms around Anne’s neck, her legs tightening their grip around Anne’s waist. Anne slipped her fingertips over Ann’s clit. She grinned as she kissed Ann’s gasping lips again. “I asked you a question, Adney. Was this your plan?”

Ann nodded, breathless, her hips pressing firmly into Anne’s hand.

“You bought these books –” 

Another nod.

“So that I would fuck you –”

Another nod.

“Up against a door,” Anne said, as if the very idea scandalized her.

Ann nodded frantically. She was close, Anne could tell; she sped up her fingers, pressing firmly against the hard bundle of Ann’s desire. 

“You’ve got me pretty well trained;” Anne kissed her hard, all tongue and teeth. Ann gasped out a laugh, her eyes screwed shut, her hips moving frantically against Anne’s hand. The slick sound of Anne’s fingers slipping through her arousal filled the room. “But I think I have you trained too. I think if I said ‘come,’ you would.” Ann nodded urgently. “Would you do that for me, baby? Would you? Come.” Anne husked the final word, her fingertips strumming Ann’s clit furiously. Ann seized, her forehead dropping to Anne’s shoulder, her body trembling and shuddering. 

Anne pulled her hand from Ann’s core and brought it to grasp Ann’s thigh. Ann was panting, her legs loosening their grip on Anne’s waist. Anne kissed her cheek, her neck, the inside of her elbow, still draped around Anne’s neck. Anne’s arm was crying out from supporting Ann for so long, so she walked them back to the desk and sat down heavily, settling Ann in to straddle her lap. Ann finally looked up at her, face and chest still pink. She smiled shyly. 

“Did I figure you out, Miss Walker?” Anne teased, her hands running up Ann’s waist and ribs. “Did you buy me these books to seduce me?” 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Ann whispered, a smile tugging at her lips. Anne dipped her head – she had to claim that grin with her own. 

“I think it worked on you,” Anne breathed against her lips. She slid her hands up Ann’s warm torso, rubbing her palms over the lace of her bra. Ann arched her back into Anne’s touch. Anne tugged the cups down gently, sighing at the feeling of Ann’s breasts in her hands. She kissed a line along Ann’s collarbone as she rolled Ann’s nipples between her fingers, pinching lightly; Ann gasped and tangled her hands in Anne’s hair. Anne grinned against her skin. 

She traced her hands down Ann’s torso, back to the waistline of her panties. Ann rolled her hips, her hands tightening in Anne’s hair, pulling her flush against her skin. Anne nipped at her pale skin, then dipped her hand between Ann’s legs. Ann lifted up on her lap, and Anne sunk two fingers into her. Their moans fused in the air. 

“I think it makes you wet,” Anne purred into Ann’s neck as she started a slow rhythm, “buying me things. Taking care of me.” Ann gasped as Anne slid a third finger in with the others. “Getting me to fuck you.” 

For several long moments, the only sound in the room was their labored breathing, the slick slide of Anne’s hand slipping through Ann’s arousal, the faint creaks from the chair below them. Their hips met in a steady rhythm, Anne using the force of her legs to drive her thrusts. She brought her free hand back to Ann’s breast, rolling and massaging and pressing. Ann was bearing down on her shoulders for leverage, riding Anne’s hand desperately. Anne pressed against Ann’s clit more firmly, her arm and wrist burning with effort. Ann’s head fell backward, moans slipping from her lips with unabashed need. Soon she was muttering and cursing; the room filled with her desperate cries of “please” and “yes” and “Pony.”

Anne grinned as she felt Ann’s inner walls clench, her hips rutting out of time, her hands tugging Anne’s hair in desperation. Ann slumped against her, her chest heaving, her slick forehead pressing into her shoulder. Anne kissed her cheek gently as she slid her hand out of Ann’s underwear and rebuttoned her jeans; she tucked Ann’s breasts back into her bra. She smiled in spite of herself as she realized she was, once again, taking care of Ann. She chuckled softly as she realized she was enjoying it. Anne had always been a generous lover, but she had never cared for someone as gently and tenderly as she did Ann. She usually rolled out of bed as soon as she could, slept in her own room, left before morning; most of the time, her lovers were pushing her out anyway. She wasn’t used to feeling possessive and protective like this. It was surprisingly arousing. 

Ann straightened and kissed Anne slowly, her fingertips tracing along Anne’s neck. Anne gripped her waist. She was wet, had been since the first touch, and by now she felt almost feral with need. Ann flicked open her slacks, then slid to the floor between Anne’s feet. Anne lifted her hips as Ann tugged the slacks to her ankles. She had just started to untie Anne’s boots when she looked up at Anne with that mischievous look. 

“I did buy those books for you,” she placed Anne’s boot gently behind her. “I like buying things for you, and I like the way it makes you act.” She placed the other boot next to the first. “You get this look in your eyes,” Ann tugged off a sock, “and it makes me so hot.” She tugged off the other. “I had such good luck with that,” Ann paused as she folded Anne’s slacks carefully and set them behind her, then she whispered, “cock.” Anne felt a fresh wave of arousal at hearing that dirty word drip from Ann’s sweet lips. Ann ran her warm hands up and down Anne’s legs, then spread her legs, and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of each knee. “I figured I’d try my luck again,” Ann’s voice was sultry, dirty. Anne’s boxers were sticking her core, her arousal so thick it was almost uncomfortable. 

“Please, Adney,” she breathed, bucking her hips in the air. Ann wrapped her hands under Anne’s knees and pulled gently. Anne shifted forward in the chair, her hips rolling fruitlessly. 

“You take such good care of me, Pony,” Ann whispered against her inner thigh. “Let me take care of you.”

With that, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of Anne’s boxers; Anne lifted her hips, sighing in relief. Ann trailed hot kisses up one leg, then dragged her tongue through Anne’s wetness once, then started with the other leg. Anne twisted her hips impatiently; she could feel her desire racing through her veins, pulsing in her clit. Ann moaned into her center, then lapped at her folds greedily. Anne’s hands flew to the back of Ann’s head; her hips ground into Ann’s face, her head falling back with a strained wheeze. How was Ann so fucking good at this? 

Ann’s lips wrapped around her clit, and Anne cried out. Ordinarily, the high-pitched gasp would have embarrassed her, but Anne was too far gone. She was lost to the divine suction of Ann’s lips, the perfect curve of her tongue, the insistent press of her fingers on Anne’s hips. She felt her release twisting in her gut, heat building in her chest, on her face, between her legs. Her thighs were straining, her hips lifting impossibly higher, until, finally, blessedly – 

“I’m – Adney – I’m – yes,” Anne’s voice was urgent and breathless, “I’m coming, Adney.” She stretched taut as she reached her peak, shuddering and trembling as Ann’s merciless tongue launched her over the edge. Anne’s mind was blank; she was only aware of the bottomless pleasure washing over her. Finally she was able to breathe again, slumping down with a grin as she watched Ann wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Ann’s hair stuck up in tufts in the back from Anne’s insistent hands, her face flushed and smiling. Anne pulled her back onto her lap with a grin, kissing her soundly. 

They sat like that for several minutes, trading teasing kisses as their heart rates slowed. Gradually, Anne started to feel uncomfortable with her bare behind on Ann’s chair, so she kissed her once more then tipped her out of her lap. Ann giggled and perched on the desk as Anne stepped into her slacks, tugged on her socks, retied her boots. Anne parked between her legs and kissed her gently, her hands settling lightly on Ann’s hips, Ann’s arms draped lazily over her shoulders. 

“Thank you for the books, darling,” Anne’s voice was rough even to her own ears. Ann blushed and hung her head, but Anne could see she was smiling. “Though I don’t know how I’ll ever get around to reading them. I have this insatiable girlfriend,” Ann’s head popped back up, her bright grin nearly consuming her face. “She keeps me incredibly busy.”

“Really?” Ann teased. “She sounds like a lot of work.” Anne could tell she was trying to keep it light, but she saw the insecurity in those blue eyes. She kissed Ann lightly. 

“It’s not work.” Anne said seriously. “Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Thank you to everyone who's left a comment - I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.
> 
> Ann Walker used to buy books for the express purpose of lending them to Anne Lister, so they would have an excuse to see each other. I've always thought that was so smooth, such a sneaky way to flirt. 
> 
> Anne's sappiness based on "I will really try to make her happy and I shall be thankful to heave for the mercy of bringing me home" September 27 1832. 
> 
> The final line is from Anne Carson's translation of the Oresteia; I adore Euripides and that trilogy in particular, so I've just shamelessly stolen it. It's been a few thousand years, I don't think Euripides would mind. 
> 
> P.S. happy birthday, firstdown :D


	29. Thursday Afternoon

Anne had finally banished her from the library just before noon. Ann had floated to the kitchen, eaten a box of mac and cheese, then drifted to the living room couch. She scrolled aimlessly through social media, her stomach overfull and uncomfortable. Eventually she fell asleep, an old episode of Bob’s Burgers playing on her laptop. 

She startled awake to the Skype tone, blinking groggily until Catherine’s icon came into focus. She hadn’t talked to Catherine in since last week, when this thing with Anne had seemed too new to mention. She smacked her lips in an attempt to banish the taste of sleep from her mouth, then ran a hand through her tousled hair as she sat up more fully. She answered the call, and Catherine’s smiling face filled the screen.

“Annie!” Catherine’s bright voice chirped. Ann couldn’t help smiling back. Catherine had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. 

“Hi Cath,” Ann cooed, “how are you?”

“Oh, you know, just hangin’ out in the pandy.”

“Pandy?” Ann wondered.

“Pandemic!”

Ann laughed and shook her head. Catherine was ridiculous almost all the time. She had already started prattling on about her sister, her mother, her Instagram account. Ann tried to pay attention, but her stomach was tying itself in knots. She would have to tell Catherine, come out to her. Elizabeth knew, but she was her sister. Elizabeth had sat through countless hours analyzing Anne Lister’s visits when they were young; she probably had her suspicions all along. Harriet and Mrs. Priestly more or less knew, but Ann hadn’t had to tell them. She would have to spell it out for Catherine. 

“And you?” Catherine dragged out the last word, her sing-songy voice snapping Ann back into reality. 

“Uh, do you know Anne Lister? Professor, lives at Shibden Hall, uh –”

“Yes,” Catherine said conspiratorially, “Harriet said she’s staying with you. What’s going on with that?”

“Well,” Ann laughed nervously, “she’s actually really lovely. And funny. And smart. And kind. And…” Ann trailed off, unable to think of more adjectives to describe this giant who had entered her life so suddenly. 

“You do know what people say about her, don’t you know?” 

“What?” Ann was breathless.

“That she can’t be trusted. In the company of other women.”

“What does that even mean?” Ann felt herself growing annoyed. “What does she do to them?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Catherine was clipped. They’d been friends so long that Catherine could sense her annoyance, which only made Ann more annoyed. 

“Does she bite them?” Ann knew she was being argumentative, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“I said I don’t know.”

“No, come on, Catherine. You can’t say something like that and then not justify it. What does she do to women that means she can’t be trusted?”

“I’m just saying what I’ve heard.” Catherine had crossed her arms and leaned away from the screen. 

“And what have you heard, Cath?”

“That she’s a – you know – lesbian,” Catherine said the final word with the same distaste as one might say “menstrual product” or “mouth breather.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” The moment of truth – would Ann be forced to hear her best friend disparage this identity she was only just now accepting? 

“There’s – well, no, Ann,” Catherine sighed, taking on the tone of an exasperated schoolteacher, “there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just, you know, wouldn’t you be uncomfortable around someone like that?”

Ann felt a cavernous valley stretch between them – that of “us” and “someone like that”. Catherine thought she and Ann were safely on the side of the former. Ann would have to break it to her that not only did she enjoy being around “some like that,” she actually was “someone like that.” She took a deep breath and started speaking before she could chicken out. 

“No, actually, I wouldn’t be. I haven’t met anyone as kind or generous or exceptional as Anne Lister in my entire life. You should meet her before you judge her, and I really think you would like her, Cath, and…” Anne paused and swallowed. Her stomach churned, but she dove in, “I’m in love with her.”

Catherine uncrossed her arms, furrowed her brow, chewed at her lip. 

“I love her, Cath. I’m serious. I’m in love with her. She’s so kind and clever and funny and – and she takes care of me. I’ve thrown my back out twice since she’s been here, and she’s been so gentle and sweet about it. She makes me laugh, and she cooks me dinner. She’s the most intelligent person I’ve ever met, and she listens to me. Like really listens to me. I love her. I –” Ann trailed off and shrugged, unsure what else to say. 

She could see the wheels turn in Catherine’s head; she felt nauseous, her mind filling with visions of their lifelong friendship crashing around her ears. She’d wrecked it. She would lose everything, everyone she’d ever cared about, for this. For Anne. And yet, Ann felt a surprising peace spread through her at the thought. Perhaps it was the mind-blowing sex, or the endless kisses, or the tender way Anne held her as they slept. Whatever it was, Ann knew she was work the risk. She couldn’t go back to the shallow, empty life she’d lived before her. Anne’s bright light had illuminated the empty spots in her world; Ann couldn’t go back to an existence without her. As this realization washed over her, Catherine’s face split into a tentative smile and she leaned back into the camera. 

“Are you really?”

Ann bit her lip and nodded, feeling her cheeks flush. 

“Ann Walker!” Catherine crowed. “Holy shit, that’s amazing. I mean, that’s crazy. Anne Lister, okay,” she nodded as she considered. “She does have that brooding thing kind of going on, huh? Kind of Mr. Darcy, all black, mysterious. I guess that’s kind of sexy? I don’t know. So you’ve been shacked up with her because of the rona and now you’re in love? What a story. Annie, I love this for you.” 

“Really?” Ann breathed; her shoulders sagged with relief. She felt tears well in her eyes. Had it really happened this easily? 

“Yes, yeah, of course. I’m sorry I was weird before. I have heard a lot of gossip about Anne Lister, but –” Catherine seemed to catch herself; her voice was careful and deliberate, not at all the free-wheeling honesty of before. Ann’s gut twisted – was Catherine pretending? “but you’re my best friend. I love you. And hearing you talk about her – I mean it’s clear you’ve got it bad. I’m pleased for you, and - it’s good. It’s great. You need somebody. I want to meet her, of course. Where is she?”

“Well, she’s working right now. She’s got this book she’s writing – she’s on sabbatical this semester to –”

“Interrupt her!” Catherine brayed. “Go get your woman. You said I should meet her, and so I shall.”

Ann opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn’t find the words. Catherine rolled her hand in a “get on with it” motion, and Ann, laughing, got up. She padded across the hall to the library and eased the door open soundlessly. Anne was staring at the ceiling, fingers poised over the keys. Ann watched her type a few words, then return her eyes to the ceiling, type a few more, then delete the whole row. She slumped back in her chair. 

“Knock knock,” Ann said lightly. Anne whipped around, a grin already spreading on her face. She jumped to her feet and wrapped Ann in her arms, kissing her soundly. 

“Just what I needed,” Anne said. “I can’t get the bloody words right. How are you?”

“Good,” Ann kissed her cheek; “come here.” 

She twisted out of Anne’s embrace and led her by the hand into the living room. Anne followed closely, pawing at her waist from behind. 

“Anne,” she warned over her shoulder, “behave.”

Anne pouted, then grabbed her wrist and pulled Ann back into her arms, crashing their lips together. Ann melted into the embrace for half a beat, letting Anne tangle one hand in her hand and the other slide down to cup her ass. 

“Hi Dr. Lister!” Catherine’s voice came from behind her. The two women shot apart. Anne’s jaw fell open, her cheeks flushed, though Ann couldn’t tell if it was from the kiss or the embarrassment. Ann bit her lip and took Anne’s hand again, walking over to the couch and settling in front of the laptop. Catherine was smiling, but Ann thought she could detect uneasiness in her eyes. 

“Cath, this is Anne Lister,” Ann said diplomatically. “Anne, this is my best friend, Catherine Rawson.” 

“Hello, Miss Rawson” Anne’s voice was warm and steady, though her cheeks were still pink. 

“You two really are an item, aren’t you?” Catherine was back to teasing. Had Ann imagined her discomfort?

“Yes,” Ann laughed.

“Lister, give me a reason I shouldn’t come whoop your ass for getting handsy with my best friend.” Catherine was playful, but Ann knew her too well. She wasn’t convinced, she was still uneasy, especially after their little display. Ann felt her stomach twist again. This was a mistake. 

“I apologize, Miss Rawson,” Anne laughed sheepishly. “How are you?” Anne fixed her brightest, most charming smile on the screen. Ann felt her stomach churn; usually, this smile made her heart soar, but today it made her anxious. Anne was so forward, so obvious - would it push Catherine the other way?

“I’m curious,” Catherine said slowly, “how did you two get together?”

“It’s very simple,” Anne was leaning back, shifting into professor mode. Ann bit her lip; would she be able to explain away Catherine’s doubts? “I came by for a visit, Miss Walker’s cook was sick, and we decided to quarantine. To be honest, I found your friend to be so...” Anne paused and looked at Ann, her eyes travelling her body in that deliciously dirty way, “extraordinary that I – well, frankly, Miss Rawson, I was captivated. And I still am.” 

Ann felt her body grow warm under Anne’s gaze; Anne squeezed her knee lightly, where Catherine couldn’t see. Ann forced herself to smile, still uncertain, and turned back to the screen. Catherine’s unconvinced eyes swung between Anne and Ann. 

“I don’t need to tell you this,” Anne was facing the screen again, “but our Ann is rather exceptional.” Ann laughed and shook her head, picking at her nails. “Even if she doesn’t believe it. She’s funny and good and kind and generous,” Anne squeezed her knee again, and Ann blushed. “Miss Rawson, surely you know how remarkable your best friend is. I have met a lot of people, but no one has entranced me like Ann Walker.”

“That’s very sweet,” Catherine nodded, but Ann could see her teetering on the edge of acceptance. This wasn’t working. Ann tore a section off her thumbnail. 

“Ann, darling,” Anne had turned to her, “would you run to the kitchen and get me a glass of water? Do you mind?” 

Ann opened her mouth to protest, but Anne winked at her and tilted her head to the door. Ann stood and left the room. She dawdled on her way to the kitchen, poured the water slowly, then dragged her feet back to the living room. Maybe if she delayed returning, she could delay the inevitable loss of her best friend. If Catherine couldn’t accept this, she didn’t deserve her friendship; Ann understood that, rationally, but it didn’t make the loss hurt any less. Ann slumped against the wall beside the door to wallow in her self-pity. Anne’s low voice drifted to her. 

“What you need to understand, Catherine, is that when I say I love her, I mean it. I don’t mince words, and I certainly don’t use that word lightly. I understand I –” Ann could hear Catherine’s faint, tinny voice from the computer, but Anne overpowered her. “Please let me – okay, I understand that I have a reputation. I understand that you have likely heard terrible things about me for much of your life. All I can say is that I am being honest and speaking from the heart when I tell you I am in love with Ann.” Ann felt her throat constrict at hearing those words so plainly.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Catherine’s faint voice was careful and slow, “and I’m happy for you. It’s a big adjustment, you know. Um, I’ve known her my whole life, and I never thought she was … you know, gay. So I’m kind of on the backfoot with this. But you seem so genuine, and Ann does seem happy. I’m sorry, for what I said earlier –”

“Already forgotten,” Anne’s low voice interrupted. “Ann didn’t hear it, so neither did I. I think we need to present a united front for Ann, alright?” Anne was all business, almost like a coach prepping before a big game. “When she gets back here, we should be on the same side. Even if you still have reservations, I think it will help her if –”

“No, no, Dr. Lister,” Catherine’s voice was stronger now, “I have heard the worst things said about you, and I want to apologize for ever having listened or believed them. I let my own prejudices get in my way. Ann is my friend. My best friend. I want her to be happy.”

“Good,” Anne’s voice softened. “Good. I’m glad.”

Ann took that moment to reenter. 

“Annie!” Catherine crowed, “you’ve been gone forever. I’ve told you that house is too big for you.”

“Maybe I’ll move out,” Ann said as she sat down. 

Catherine started listing places Ann could move, and Ann let her comforting prattle wash over her. Catherine’s smile had finally reached her eyes as she talked excitedly about neighborhoods, square footage, relative distance to brunch spots. Anne settled her arm on the back of the sofa behind her shoulders as Ann studied her friend’s face. Maybe she could do this, maybe she could really do this. 

“I’m getting ahead of myself,” Catherine raised her hand, “you two are probably going to stay living together, aren’t you? Since you’re doing it now?”

Ann felt warmth suffuse her body. It was okay. Catherine was okay. She wouldn’t have to lose her friend to have Anne. She grinned and leaned into Anne’s side, having forgotten the question already.

“Uh, we’ve talked about it,” Anne hedged next to her, filling in the silence. 

“You look really happy, Annie,” Catherine said seriously, her light, babbling tone gone. “I’m genuinely very pleased for you.” A playful grin spread across her face, “Lister, hands to yourself!” Anne laughed and raised her hands in surrender. “Alright, I’ve got to go. Talk soon.”

Ann nodded, and then Catherine disappeared. She sighed heavily, feeling the tension seep from her muscles. She’d done it. She’d told Catherine, and … it was okay. It was all okay, she repeated to herself. 

“She seems fun,” Anne said, dropping her arm to wrap around Ann’s shoulders. 

“She is. She can be kind of … vapid. You know? Talks a lot about hats and shoes and food. But she’s my best friend. I’m – uh, I was nervous. To tell her. About us. But I think it went well,” Ann looked up at Anne with a faint smile. Anne was smiling that soft smile right back. 

“I think it did too.”

“What did you talk about while I was gone?”

“Nothing,” Anne squeezed Ann’s upper arm. 

“Nothing?”

“Not a thing,” Anne was teasing her now, her hand slipping from Ann’s arm to her waist and pulling her closer to her side. 

“You sat here in silence?”

“Yep,” Anne nuzzled into her neck. 

Ann shook her head with a grin and swung her leg over Anne’s lap to straddle her. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Ann whispered against her lips. 

“You’ve said that before,” Anne teased as her hands settled on Ann’s hips. Ann kissed her firmly once, then settled back on Anne’s knees, reveling in the press of her firm thighs against her center. It didn’t take long for her to feel that persistent ache – it never did. She ran her hands up to Anne’s sturdy biceps; God, she was so strong. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Ann said with a shake of her head. 

“You could start by taking me to bed,” Anne’s voice was low and rough again. Ann kissed her once, deeply, then dove back in for another. Then one more. She finally pulled away.

“Let’s go,” she whispered as she stood and took Anne’s hand.

Anne grinned and scooped her into her arms, bridal-style. Ann giggled the whole way upstairs, pausing only to kiss Anne’s neck, her cheek, her jaw. What in the world would she do with this impossible, mad, exhilarating woman?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I struggled to write this chapter for whatever reason - maybe it was trying to capture Catherine's character, maybe it was forcing myself to lay off the smut for once. I wanted to explore Catherine, have her be a little unsure in that way so many are when you first come out, but I also wanted her to get over it. It's an important step for Ann, I think, to come out, to claim her sexuality and Anne in public and breach the little bubble they're living in. Also they can't shag every second of every day - I'm trying to find ways to show their intimacy and connection in addition to all that. Which is not to say there will be less smut in these last few days. I'm not a crazy person. 
> 
> That's what was going around in my head as I wrote - how's the final product? Your feedback means everything - thank you thank you thank you.


	30. Thursday Night

Anne deposited Ann on the bed then stepped back to toe off her boots, her hands already working the buttons of her shirt. Ann’s face had that bright, wide smile on as she tugged off her t-shirt and wriggled out of her jeans. Anne shucked her slacks and boxers in one movement; Ann was already unclasping her bra and shuffling her panties to her ankles. Anne tossed her own bra on the growing pile of clothes before retrieving that discrete black box. By the time she’d set the harness firmly around her hips and turned to face the bed, Anne could feel arousal coursing through her blood. She was going to fuck Ann slowly and deeply and properly. She stopped in her tracks at the sight before her. 

Ann Walker was propped among the pillows, her legs spread and bent, one hand toying with her breast, the other circling her clit slowly. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips parted, her chest and neck turning pink. Anne moved slowly to the foot of the bed, as if a sudden movement would startle the delicate creature in front of her. Ann’s eyes opened more fully when Anne’s knee sank into the bedding; her hand started moving faster. Anne considered letting her finish like this but she just couldn’t keep her hands from running up Ann’s legs. Ann stilled her hands, then held her wet fingertips out; Anne moved forward, taking Ann’s fingers in her mouth, moaning softly at the taste. She ran her tongue across them, sucking lightly, then pulled back to place a wet kiss on the back of Ann’s hand, then the palm. 

Ann brought her wet hand to cup Anne’s cheek and pull their lips together. The kiss was sloppy and slow and deep. Anne pulled away, then traced her lips across Ann’s jaw, neck, chest. She took Ann’s breast in her mouth, teasing her nipple with her teeth. There was an innate primal tendency to her movements – she relished the feeling of Ann in her mouth and between her teeth, almost as much as she enjoyed the sounds Ann was making. Anne moved to her other breast, delighting in the low moan slipping form Ann’s lips. Ann’s hips rolled gently into her belly. 

Anne leaned back and aligned her cock with Ann’s wet folds. Ann whimpered softly as Anne ran the tip through her arousal before slowly sliding into her. Ann’s back arched as she adjusted to being filled; Anne loved this moment, the delicious tension before the real fun began. She waited until Ann’s legs wrapped around her hips and her hands gripped lightly at her shoulders – a silent request. Anne bent at the waist, balanced on her forearms, and kissed Ann slowly as she started a slow rhythm. Anne rolled her hips evenly, filling Ann with every thrust, burying her cock in Ann’s tight core; she brought a hand between their bodies to stroke Ann’s clit. Ann closed her eyes, meeting Anne’s thrusts with increasing urgency. Anne moved her lips to Ann’s jawline, grinning as she felt Ann’s legs tighten around her waist. She sped up, thrusting more shallowly, flicking the hard bud of Ann’s desire. Ann’s heels dug into her back, pulling Anne deeper, as she moved desperately against her. Anne rutted into her furiously until she felt Ann’s core clamp around her, her arms and legs pulling her impossibly closer. 

Anne slowed until the trembling below her stopped, until Ann’s legs fell to the bed in exhaustion, until Ann opened her eyes and met Anne with a breathless grin. Anne kissed her softly once before pulling out. Ann caught her hip, keeping Anne over her, and fumbled with the harness until she could pull it from Anne’s hips. Anne watched her toss the strap to the floor with a satisfied smirk; she would’ve teased her if she wasn’t so turned on. Bringing Ann to orgasm was arousing enough, watching her come only made it worse, but feeling her tug at her strap and lay her core bare? It was almost too much. 

Ann bit her lip as she started to circle Anne’s clit. Anne buried her face in Ann’s shoulder, rutting her hips into Ann’s hand. She was so close already, almost embarrassed that her release was already lapping her center. She felt it overwhelm her, pleasure washing over her as she collapsed onto Ann’s chest. Ann stroked her slowly, allowing her to catch her breath, before pulling her hand away and kissing her jaw lightly. 

“Fuck, Ann,” she panted, unable to form any thoughts more eloquent than that. She could feel Ann grin into her neck. 

Anne rolled onto her back, chest still heaving. Ann stood and slipped Anne’s discarded shirt over her shoulders, only buttoning the middle three buttons. She was so petite the shirttails covered a third of her thighs. Anne was practically salivating at the sight, her tired arms already reaching out again. Ann gave her a teasing kiss, then slipped out the door with a smirk. Anne studied the ceiling as she caught her breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much sex. Maybe never. No one else had been this insatiable, this close of a match to Anne’s own desires. There was always so much sneaking around with Mariana, drunken drowsiness overpowering Tib, Maria’s young daughter and her tender ears listening in the next room. She pulled on sweats and a t-shirt and glanced furtively at her cell phone peeking out of her trouser pocket. Mariana had texted again – Anne wasn’t sure how much longer she could avoid her. She laid her phone facedown on the nightstand and settled into the pillows, forcibly turning her thoughts back to Ann. 

Of course, being with Ann was more than just sex; it was making love, yes, but it was also satisfying a craving, devouring her favorite meal, scratching that persistent itch. It was sensual and tender and dirty and slow and passionate and hot and fast and rough and the most perfect peace Anne had ever known. Her body fit around Ann’s in a way she thought only existed in poetry.

Then Ann appeared, kicking the door shut behind her, arms laden with water bottles, a tray of fruit, a bowl of pretzels, a bag of chocolates. She set the food down carefully, then passed Anne one of the bottles. They drank for a long moment; Anne couldn’t keep her eyes off the pale, slender column of Ann’s neck. Ann sat across from her at the foot of the bed. 

“Thank you, darling,” Anne said as she bit into a grape. Ann shrugged in a self-deprecating sort of way. “My shirt looks good on you, but I think I’d like to take it off you.” Ann blushed and looked down at the chocolate wrapper she was peeling. Anne decided to relent, let the poor girl recover. For now. 

They ate and talked and laughed for hours, the sun setting in the window over Ann’s shoulder. Ann told her about Catherine as a little girl, how they’d gotten detention once for talking too much in the back of dance class. Anne listened to her descriptions of her teachers, her mother’s quiet kindness, her father’s unpredictable moods; her heart ached for the hardships this delicate creature had been forced to endure seemingly her entire life. Ann laughed until she cried when Anne described the time her father had found her in a smoke-filled bar at 3 o’clock in the morning hustling a group of drunk soldiers at poker. When Anne recounted the time she’d climbed on their roof and screamed obscenities while brandishing a sword she’d found in the attic, Ann pelted her with a grape.

“You can’t shout ‘fuck off’ to your parents, Anne!”

“You can,” Anne laughed and popped the grape in her mouth, “they’ll just get mad.”

“I’m excited to meet your family,” Ann said. 

“Oh God,” Anne groaned. “They’re ridiculous. All of them. Imbeciles. Not my aunt. But my father? Feckless. Always nodding off. Deaf. Unless it’s something you don’t want him to hear, then his ears work just fine.” Ann giggled, and Anne was tingly all over. How she loved making Ann laugh. “Marian? Absolutely insane. She’s always asking me these inane questions – when will I be home for lunch, why did I track mud through the house, what that thumping sound was in the night. Like, it’s obvious, Marian.” Anne ticked off the answers on her fingers, “I don’t eat lunch, I move around too much to take my boots on and off all the time, the thumping was my headboard. Grow up.” Anne was ranting, gesturing wildly, lost to the memories of past arguments. 

Ann’s bright laughter brought her back to reality. Anne quirked an eyebrow in mock offense. 

“What’s so funny?

“You are,” Ann laughed. “Marian sounds perfectly reasonable. Those are perfectly reasonable questions.” Anne scoffed. “Yes, Pony, they are. And I’m telling you now, if she ever hears our headboard in the night, I will absolutely die.” 

Anne couldn’t help laughing now; she was drunk on that delicious pair of words: “our” and “headboard.”

“I’m serious,” Ann said; “I can’t even imagine how embarrassed I would be – if anyone heard us – me …” she trailed off helplessly. 

“Heard us what?” Anne played the fool, setting the empty bowl on the floor. 

“You know… heard us when we’re in bed.”

“Like when we’re talking? We’ll just be quiet,” Anne did her best stage whisper as she moved the bag of pretzels to the floor. 

“Come on,” Ann was exasperated, “you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” Anne set the tray on the nightstand, her path to Ann now perfectly clear. 

“I think you want me to say it,” Ann dared. 

“Say what?” Anne asked innocently.

“I don’t want any of your family,” Ann enunciated each word to perfection “to hear us having sex.”

“Having sex?” Anne asked in mock surprise; she leaned forward on her hands and knees, crawling slowly to Ann. 

“Making love, if you like,” Ann was flustered, leaning back as Anne advanced; Anne grinned over her. 

“I think I would like.” Anne purred. She watched Ann swallow, lick her lips. Anne dipped her head to catch Ann’s lips. Ann’s small hands cupped her face, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Anne lost herself to the slide of Ann’s lips, the taste of her tongue, the touch of her hands; she dropped to her forearms, their bodies pressing together as if each hill and valley was made to complement the other. 

Eventually, Anne shifted to her side and traced her hand down Ann’s neck, between her breasts, to the first of those worthless buttons. She eased them free slowly, revealing the expanse of Ann’s pale chest. Her fingertips tripped lightly over her warm skin, watching the gooseflesh rise in response, then rose to settle on her knees between Ann’s legs. She was overcome, rather suddenly, by a desire to feel Ann against her. Not with some silicone artifice (as lovely as that was), but truly against her, skin on skin. She tugged her shirt over her head, then dove in to catch her lips. 

Without breaking the kiss, Ann pushed her sweats down, over her hips, kneading her ass until Anne finally pulled away to yank them off entirely. Ann sat up and slid Anne’s shirt from her shoulders, before pulling Anne into her as she laid back against the sheets. For several long minutes, they moved together, lips and breasts and hips colliding sloppily. Anne pulled back to interlace their legs and align their cores – they moaned in unison at the connection. 

Anne ground her hips into Ann, the delicious, slick sound of their mingling arousal filling the room. Normally Anne was very vocal during sex; she liked to underscore her movements with her words, to fill her lover’s ear with sweet, filthy nothings. Now, however, her throat constricted. She couldn’t say anything, couldn’t find the words to express the depth of her feelings. All she could do was roll her hips and kiss Ann’s lips and study her face. Ann was so beautiful like this – wanton, desperate, free. She was clutching at Anne’s back, matching the roll of her hips, snaking her hand between their slick bodies. Ann strummed her clit, chasing her own release; Anne mirrored her movements. They shot over the precipice together, trembling and muttering and gasping together. 

Finally, they stilled. Ann scratched her fingernails along Anne’s scalp as she caught her breath. Anne fell to her back, grabbing Ann’s hand and grinning at her. Ann grinned back, her cheeks still pink. Anne couldn’t resist kissing her once more.

“I love you,” Anne whispered against her lips. 

“I love you,” Ann whispered back, before turning to press her slick back into Anne’s front. Anne pulled the covers over them before wrapping one arm around Ann’s middle, the other slipping under her pillow. Ann sighed contentedly and reached out to turn off the bedside lamp. Anne snuggled into the sheets and inhaled the scent of Ann’s shampoo. She smiled as her eyes slid closed; by this time tomorrow, if everything went to plan, Ann Walker would be her fiancé.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30 chapters?? Insanity.
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos and/or a comment. Your feedback is more helpful than you can imagine. I'm very excited to share what's coming in the next couple chapters, and a lot of it is based on your comments. Thank you!!


	31. Friday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking my own convention to have Anne's perspective two chapters in a row because it's my story and I can do whatever I want.

Anne woke to the persistent buzzing of her cell phone. She rolled onto her back, one arm still pinned under Ann’s pillow, the other reaching out to the nightstand. She answered the call without opening her eyes.

“Hello?” she said sleepily. Ann rolled over, still half-asleep, and snuggled into her chest. Anne absentmindedly traced her spine with her fingertips. 

“Freddie, how long were you going to ignore me?” Mariana’s slippery voice purred. Anne was suddenly, viscerally awake. 

“Um, I – I was going to give you a call,” Anne hedged, her groggy mind struggling to form a better excuse. 

“I’ve been missing you, Fred, so much I almost can’t sleep,” Mariana had that damned voice on, the one that usually made Anne mad with want. Today it made her stomach churn. “I’ve been having to take care of myself, but all I can think about are those strong fingers of yours.”

“Can I – um, let me call you back,” Anne stammered. Ann was stirring; she needed to get off the phone. 

“I’ll be waiting,” Mariana breathed, then she was gone. Anne slumped back into the pillow. Shit. This was absolutely the last thing she needed today. 

“Who was that?” Ann opened her eyes slowly, but Anne could tell she was awake, had heard her. 

“No one,” she lied, pecking Ann’s lips in a feeble attempt at distraction.

“You’re going to call no one back?” Ann teased, pressing her lips to Anne’s chest. 

“It was – uh – it was Mariana Lawton, actually,” Anne tried to sound nonchalant. 

“What does Mariana Lawton need at this ungodly hour?”

“Who knows,” Anne chuckled, “it’s nearly nine o’clock anyway.” She kissed the top of Ann’s head, hoping that would be the end of it. 

“What did Mrs. Lawton say, when you told her? About us?” 

Anne could tell Ann, too, was trying to be casual, but she saw through the younger woman’s attempt at ease. Anne considered lying, telling Ann she’d told Mariana all about them, had come clean and broken things off for good. Then she thought of that small round box buried in her suitcase. She couldn’t very well ask Ann to marry her with this lie hanging over her. Why hadn’t she settled this with Mary earlier?

“I haven’t,” she said simply, her hand still tracing along Ann’s back.

“What?”

“I haven’t – uh, I haven’t told Mariana. About us. Yet.”

“You’re kidding,” Ann sat up, her brow furrowed. 

“I just haven’t had a chance,” Anne reached for her, trying to recapture the comfortable embrace of a moment ago.

“You’ve told your aunt though,” Ann pulled back.

“Yes, of course, I talk to her every day.” This, at least, was the truth. She’d even run her proposal plan past Aunt Anne, who was very encouraging. 

“And you’ve told your sister.”

“Well, no. I don’t really talk to Marian.” 

“Have you told your father?”

“My father?” Anne almost laughed. “No, I have not told my father.”

“You’ve asked me to move in with you, but you haven’t told the people you live with. Your family.”

“It’s my house, Ann, I can do what I like.” Anne was getting frustrated – why was Ann being so obstinate? “Besides, Aunt Anne will have told them. They know.”

“You should want to tell them, though,” Ann said slowly. “You should want to share this with them.”

“Ann,” she sighed, “I’m not close to my family like that. I –”

“Have you told any of your friends?” Ann interrupted. 

“What?” 

“Your friends, your work colleagues, anyone.”

“Well, no,” Anne realized she hadn’t even considered it. She didn’t really think of herself as having friends. Mariana was probably the closest thing she had to a real friend; Tib, perhaps, could fit that mold, when she was sober. 

“So you’ve told no one,” Ann was standing, moving to her dresser, turning away from her. 

“I told my aunt!” 

“I came out to my sister and my two best friends, which, by the way, was very stressful,” Ann was tugging on her clothes; Anne heard the frustration in her voice, saw the anger in her movements. 

“I’m already out, Adney,” she tried to be gentle; “it’s a little bit different for me.”

“Why haven’t you told Mariana?” Ann whipped around to face her. She was angry in a way Anne hadn’t seen before, underscored by her usual cocktail of fear and insecurity. 

“I just haven’t really talked to her,” Anne shrugged helplessly, feeling foolish now, naked in bed and unable to give any kind of justification for her actions. She reached over the side of the bed for her t-shirt. 

“She’s been texting you,” Ann accused.

“What? How do you –”

“You left your phone here yesterday morning. Last Friday as well. And Tuesday. It must have gone off a dozen times each day. All with texts from her. I ignored it. I thought she was upset, jealous maybe, but now - what was she saying?”

Anne considered harnessing her own anger, turning it back on Ann, lashing out for looking at her phone in the first place, but it wasn’t worth it. Anne had left her phone in plain view. It wasn’t Ann’s fault. It was a feeble argument anyway. 

“My relationship with Mary is – in the past,” Anne said slowly, “but she doesn’t understand that. She - uh, she won’t give me up. She never has.”

“Isn’t she married, Anne?” Ann’s voice was the most painful mixture of accusation and incredulity and frustration. 

“Yes,” Anne said into her lap, her own frustration growing. “Yes, she is. It’s complicated – it’s – I don’t know how to - she has been the most significant person in my life–”

“Is she?” Ann’s eyes welled with tears. Fuck – Anne hadn’t even heard her words as she’d said them. Ann was already making for the door.

“Ann, wait –” Anne scrambled out of bed, pulling on her boxers as she chased Ann into the hallway. 

“I was wrong. About this,” Ann was walking away from her, shaking her head. “About all of this. I was so stupid. I can’t believe I –” 

“Wait,” Anne grabbed her wrist, recoiling when Ann turned to face her. Ann’s tear-stained face broke something in her; she suddenly saw her behavior in Technicolor, her mistakes jumping to the forefront. Why hadn’t she told her family? Introduced them over FaceTime or something? She hadn’t called up Tib or even shared a text with the guys from the university. Ann had been so open in sharing her own life, why hadn’t Anne done the same? She’d taken this perfect, beautiful, fragile woman, lifted her to new heights, and now she was about to smash her into the ground. Over Mariana? Over the temptress who’d led her by the nose for two decades? Was she really going to lose this exquisite angel for a woman who wouldn’t even acknowledge her in public? She set her shoulders and swallowed resolutely. Mariana had taken enough of her past; Anne would not let her steal her future as well. 

“Ann, listen to me. I am an idiot. Seriously. I – I have spent almost all of my adult life chasing after Mariana. Like an idiot. I have let her string me along for years. Like an idiot. And I was still afraid to cut ties with her for good. Because I’m an idiot. I have been a fool for most of my life, and I will probably continue to be a fool, in some ways,” Anne gave a half-chuckle, hoping to make Ann smile. Meager success. “But I’m not going to be foolish enough to lose you. To throw away what we have. I told you once I would throw Mariana over in a minute if you were serious about me, and I meant that. I got scared, I guess, that if I lost you, then I wouldn’t even have Mariana to fall back on. But –” Anne tugged at her ear nervously, “I don’t care anymore. I’m done with her. I’m all in.” 

Anne nodded once to mark the end of her speech. Her chest tightened as Ann studied her face and considered. Had she done it? Would Ann accept her? Or had she just lost the best thing she’d ever had? Anne chewed the inside of her cheek and shifted her weight from foot to foot anxiously. Finally, Ann reached out and took her hand. She squeezed once, then nodded. 

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay?” Anne breathed. “We’re okay?”

“We’re okay,” Ann said softly, “but you’re going to call Mrs. Lawton right now. Then you’re going to tell her what you just told me.” 

“Okay,” Anne nodded frantically, willing to do anything. The prospect of losing Ann had been too great, too close. She had felt that pain almost physically; she would do whatever Ann wanted.

Anne retrieved her phone and sat on the edge of the bed. She wanted to have this conversation in private, but she felt it was probably important for Ann to hear her. Not to mention it would keep her honest, force her to follow through. Ann knelt on the bed next to her, still keeping her distance. Anne opened her text thread with Mariana.

“See? Look,” Anne scrolled through rows of dirty texts and close-ups of Mariana’s chest. Anne blushed; maybe she shouldn’t be showing Ann these. “I texted her last week to say, you know, knock it off.” She scrolled a bit further up, “I texted her the morning I got here. Before I got here. But that was the last time.”

Ann leaned over her shoulder and studied the screen. She nodded. Anne tapped Mariana’s contact; the screen filled with an ancient photo of them as young women, grinning widely, their arms draped around each other’s shoulders. Anne’s stomach twisted at the sight of them before everything had fallen apart. In another lifetime, maybe it would’ve worked out. Anne banished the thought. On her best day, Mariana didn’t even come close to Ann. She tapped the call button and put the phone to her ear. She was tempted to put it on speakerphone, but thought that might be an invasion of Mariana’s privacy. Two rings, then – 

“Finally,” Mariana purred, “I was about to finish by myself.”

“Mary, listen,” Anne blushed at Mariana’s filthy tone, “I can’t do this with you anymore.”

“What?” Mariana laughed. “Of course you can, Freddie, I’ll get you started. I’m on my back, and my legs are –”

“Mary!” Anne interrupted desperately. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “I mean I can’t see you or call you or – any of it. Not like we used to.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Mariana was turning petulant.

“I don’t want to,” Anne said resolutely, looking at Ann, who was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. 

“Now I know that’s a lie. Who’s making you say this?”

“Nobody – look, the thing is – I’ve met someone. I’m really very serious about her, and I can’t do – this - with you and be honest with her. I’m in love with her,” Ann’s eyes shot up at Anne’s words.

“But Freddie,” Mariana pouted, “you’re in love with me.”

“A long time ago,” Anne said gently, “but then you married Charles, and … I can’t keep waiting for you, Mary. I don’t want to. I have someone now with whom I see a future. A real future. Not this sneaking around and secrets and waiting.”

There was silence on the other end. Anne reached out to squeeze Ann’s knee, grounding herself, reminding herself this was the right thing. 

“I don’t think it’ll last,” Mariana’s haughty tone came through. “You’ve tried this before, Fred, and it never works out. You can’t sustain a relationship. You don’t have it in you. I’m the best you’ve ever had, but I’m also the best you can do. I’ll see you in a month or two when this fizzles out.” Anne heard the soft beeps that signaled Mariana had hung up on her. She pulled the phone from her ear and tossed it carelessly behind her on the bed. She turned to Ann, who was still biting her lip. 

“That’s that,” she said, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. She knew she’d done the right thing, could see the proof in Ann’s bright blue eyes, but it didn’t change the feeling of loss in her gut. Mariana had been one of the only constants in her life, as much a part of her DNA as her family or Shibden. She fiddled with the ring on her index finger, remembering the day she’d bought it, Mariana by her side, their whole lives stretched before them. 

A small white hand covered hers. Anne looked up and met Ann’s eyes. Ann squeezed her hand, then leaned in to place the softest kiss on her cheek. Anne felt the tears fall – from the loss of Mariana, from the tenderness of Ann’s gesture, from the fear coiling in her gut. Ann hummed softly and scooted closer to wrap Anne in her arms. For the first time in years, Anne let herself cry, let herself be held, let her towering, impenetrable walls fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> A bit of the heavy stuff, but the next chapter is so long and sweet you'll get a cavity. Plus I like pushing my own boundaries as a writer, and this is definitely a little bit out of my wheelhouse. Fluff and smut are one thing, but serious feelings? Not my strongest suit.  
> Thank you to everyone who has left a comment. Your feedback is so so appreciated - I swear some of y'all can read my mind...


	32. Friday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really should be two chapters, but I kept going back and forth on where to cut it. 2 for the price of 1!

Anne had been distant, preoccupied, for most of the afternoon. Ann tried not to let this bother her, tried to focus on the huge step they’d taken that morning, tried to remember that Anne had chosen her. So why did it feel like Anne was ignoring her? They had sat, huddled together, on the bed for what felt like hours, before Anne pulled away and said she was going to work in the garden. Ann watched her from the window for a few minutes; she was so strong and determined and beautiful. Ann felt her chest tighten at the sight of her pulling weeds and clipping branches. Why wouldn’t she just come inside and be with her? 

Anne had come inside in the early afternoon, brushing a careless kiss across Ann’s cheek before jogging upstairs. Ann heard the shower running from her perch on the couch. She couldn’t focus on her painting, couldn’t pick a show to watch, couldn’t pay attention to the book in her hands. Perhaps Anne wasn’t ready to cut Mariana off, perhaps she regretted her decision already. Ann picked at her nails absentmindedly. What did Mariana have that she didn’t have? Ann started a cursory Internet search – Mariana was petite, brunette, with a sort of devilish smile and knowing eyes. She looked experienced and sultry and fiendish in a way that Ann could never hope to be. She couldn’t find a single photo of Mariana and Anne together; she really did shun Anne in public. Ann felt herself getting warm, anger setting up shop under her skin; this woman knew Anne so intimately, had treated her so poorly, had squandered her. She felt an intense jealousy, belied by a sense of gratitude; if Mariana had any sense, Anne wouldn’t be here with her today. 

She snapped her computer shut. Anne was still upstairs – doing what? Ann crept up the stairs, this intoxicating mixture of envy and greed and appreciation coursing through her. Mariana didn’t deserve Anne, never had. She belonged to Ann, and Ann wanted to make sure she knew it. Desire coursed through her veins as she swung open the door to their bedroom to find Anne, clad only in her boxers and undershirt, hand on hip, cell phone to ear. She was facing the closet, considering two suits she’d hung in the doorway. Ann knocked lightly on the door. Anne spun around and smiled widely. 

“Yes, Aunt, I – oh look who it is!” Anne held out her arm, and Ann dove into her chest. She wrapped her arms around Anne’s lithe body, inhaling her freshly-showered scent. Anne ran her hand up and down Ann’s back. “Ann has just come in the room; I’d better – oh? Okay, yes, hold on.”

Anne pulled the phone from her ear. Ann looked up at her. 

“My aunt wants to say hello, do you mind? I know you’ve met before, but –”

“Sure,” Ann nodded, grateful to have this sprung on her. Otherwise she surely would’ve spent hours fretting over it. Anne winked at her, then hit the speakerphone button. 

“Aunt? I’m here with Ann,” Anne said loudly. 

“Hello,” Ann called, unsure what to say. 

“Miss Walker!” Aunt Anne’s bright voice chirped into the room, “it is so lovely to hear from you. Anne has been telling me so much about you – all good!” she laughed heartily, and Ann joined her. “I hear you’re coming to be with us next week?”

“Yes, um, if you don’t mind,” Ann felt shy, embarrassed even. Moving in with the Listers was exciting in theory, but rather nerve-wracking in practice. 

“Mind? We’ll be delighted. We’re all very excited to see you both. Now I hear you have a big night ahead –”

“Aunt,” Anne warned. What was Ann missing?

“Well anyway,” Aunt Anne laughed, “I’ll see you on Monday. Anne, darling, call me tomorrow, alright? Bye now.” 

Anne ended the call and threw her phone on the dresser. She wrapped Ann more fully in her arms. Ann found she couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Thank you,” Anne said quietly, “for humoring her. Me. Us.”

“I was happy to,” Ann said honestly; “I told you, I’m looking forward to getting to know your family.”

“De gustibus non disputandum est,” Anne laughed and kissed her lightly, “there’s no accounting for taste.” She pulled away, swinging their interlocked hands between them. “What did you come up here for?”

“Honestly? I thought you were still upset about this morning, so I was going to come snog you until you remembered you’re mine.” Ann felt uncommonly bold, that heady mixture of jealousy and possessiveness still swirling in her, “but now I’ve talked to your sweet, elderly aunt I feel a bit … sanitized I guess.”

“What a shame,” Anne husked, then caught her lips in a deep kiss. “It works out anyway, though, because we don’t have the time. We have rather a big night ahead of us.”

“Do we?”

“Oh yeah,” Anne winked, “I’m going to cook dinner, and then we’re going to eat it. I want you to wear something nice. I’m going to wear something nice.” Anne was considering her suits again; Ann fancied she could see a nervous twitch to her hands. Surely not, she thought, surely Anne Lister had nothing to be nervous about. “And then we’ll stroll through the gardens. I think you’ll like how it looks.”

“Okay,” Ann said, unsure how this qualified as a ‘big night.’ She gave Anne a parting kiss on the cheek before moving into the bathroom. 

Ann bathed leisurely, taking time to actually condition her hair, shave, scrub every inch of her skin. This past week she had been rushing her showers, anxious to get back to Anne. She hadn’t noticed the small, fingertip-sized bruises she had along her hips, and the discovery sent a shiver down her spine. How lovely to be wanted so deeply, to be held so closely. 

When she stepped into the bedroom, Anne was gone, though the suits still hung in the doorway. Ann wondered how she could even tell the difference between the two – both were that impenetrable black Anne favored. Ann slipped past them and into her closet, considering the rainbow of dresses before her. She settled on a light blue number she loved and thought Anne would appreciate; it was sleeveless, fitted tight across the bodice, then a full A-line skirt that fell to her mid-thigh. She bit her lip at the shortness of it. Yeah, Anne would like it. 

She dried her hair, made up her face, then slipped the dress over her head. She felt inexplicably nervous, even as she reminded herself that she was just going downstairs. It seemed like that sharp edge of anticipation should have dulled by now, but Anne still set her heart racing. She wanted to look just right, even though Anne had already seen her without makeup, groggy from sleep, naked, hair tangled, crying, anxious - all of it. She pulled a pair of nude flats on her feet and trotted down to the kitchen, following the sound of soft R&B. 

Ann stopped in her tracks at the sight of the woman bent over the stove; her back was to Ann, and she almost didn’t recognize her. She was wearing white. A white shirt, specifically, but white nonetheless. Her shirt was rolled up to her elbows, tucked neatly into her dark pants; Ann squinted – they were a dark blue. She had on light brown brogues, her bare ankle poking out cheekily. Ann exhaled shakily; Anne dressed in color certainly qualified as a ‘big night.’ What the hell was going on?

She approached Anne carefully, peering over her shoulder into the pan; she could see mussels, shrimp, rice. Anne turned her head and smiled softly. Ann tilted her chin; Anne granted her requested kiss. Ann pulled away, noticing for the first time the stark black apron Anne wore. Old habits, she figured.

“You look positively ravishing,” Anne drawled, turning from the stove to drag her eyes lasciviously up Ann’s body. Ann blushed and slapped her playfully on the arm. 

“What are you making?”

“Paella,” Anne said proudly.

“You know,” Ann teased, “someone told me recently that they love paella, but that it’s too hard to make.”

“Some things are worth the effort.”

Ann bit her lip with a shake of the head. She busied herself pouring them each a glass of wine

“You would not believe how easy it is to get mussels during a lockdown. Really, I had thought it was impossible. But here we are,” Anne grinned, pleased with herself. 

Ann watched her stir and season and plate, admiring the shape of her shoulders under her shirt, the tender curl of hair that escaped from her bun, the way the tendons in her arm flexed as she carried their food to the deck. It was still early enough that they were bathed in a warm, yellow light. Anne set down their plates, tossed off her apron, pulled out Ann’s chair for her. They sat close together, facing out toward the garden, and ate quietly for a few minutes – Anne really was an exceptional cook. 

“This is amazing,” Ann told her. 

Anne doffed an invisible cap and took a sip of wine. She was doing this thing with her middle finger – flicking it back and forth across the glass. Ann felt strangely aroused by the vaguely familiar gesture. Anne noticed her flush, grinned, and set her glass down. They ate and talked casually, but Ann felt like they were dancing around something. She could tell Anne was thinking of something else, but she couldn’t figure out what. Finally, Anne set her fork on her empty plate, readjusted in her seat, and fixed Ann with that penetrating gaze.

“So I want to talk about this morning,” Anne started. Ann opened her mouth to speak, but Anne held up her hand. “I want to explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain. I appreciate what you –”

“I’d like to explain. I want you to understand.” Anne cut her off. Ann nodded, watching her take a deep breath. “Here’s the thing with Mariana. She is – she has been one of the only constants in my adult life. When I talk about different relationships, they – uh, they all circle back to her. She would push me away, I’d find someone else, they would grow tired of me, and I would run back to her. Start the cycle over. That was my habit for twenty years.”

Ann pushed her food around her plate. She wanted to understand, to know everything about Anne, but she wasn’t sure she could handle it. How could she measure up? How could she possibly compete with the woman who had ruled Anne’s life for so long?

“But desire is all about delay. The more they hold back, the more you want it. Right? Mariana disapproved of almost everything about me. My clothes and my figure and what I do for a living and the way I talk and drive and eat. So the more she pushed me away, the more she demanded I change, the more – you know, the more I wanted her. I don’t want to be graphic, but – I mean, she really understood me. She would berate for me twenty minutes, and then we’d fall into bed, and –” Anne looked down, shook her head. Ann’s gut twisted at the thought of Anne with someone else; she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear much more. 

“Here’s the thing,” Anne sighed as she looked back up; the depth of her expression threatening to drown Ann. “The feeling I had for Mariana – which I thought was love – it was this all-consuming thing. I wasn’t a person when I was with her. I was just – just a thing that wants Mariana. Does that make sense?” Ann nodded, even though she wasn’t so sure. Anne looked down and continued, “I wasn’t myself. I actually tried to be as unlike myself as I could be. And I thought was love. The rush I got from being with her, from her approval, from performing myself in the way that she wanted. For two decades that was what I thought love was. And then I came here.” 

Ann felt the breath leave her body. 

“I came here,” Anne said, toying with her fork, “and I realized that’s not love at all. When I’m with you, I can still be who I am. But it’s like I’m more. I’m a better me. Mariana always wanted me to be better – her version of better, at least - but she did not want me to be myself. D’you see? And you –” Anne’s voice cracked; she turned to look up at Ann. “You make me feel like I’m the best Anne Lister possible. Like we’re two halves of a – a –” Anne gestured vaguely with her hands; Ann smiled at her flustered shake of the head. “We’re two halves of something. With Mariana, it was like she was nine tenths of something, and if I did just right, I could be the last piece. We weren’t equals. I didn’t realize that love shouldn’t feel like that until – until I got here.”

“Anne,” Ann breathed. She didn’t know what else to say, so she reached out for Anne’s hand, stroking her thumb across the back. Anne smiled, her eyes watery. 

“That’s my story. I’m forty-two years old, and I am just now figuring out what love is. And you’ve shown me. So thank you. And I love you.”

Ann tilted her chin, smiling as Anne pressed their lips together. Anne tilted her head to deepen the kiss; her hands sliding up Ann’s neck to tangle in her hair. Ann felt herself melting into Anne, into the perfect pressure of their lips, the gentle cradle of Anne’s hands, the slick slide of her tongue. Anne pulled away slowly, her eyes dancing. Ann’s blood was already racing. 

“God, Pony, who taught you to kiss?” Ann asked with a breathless chuckle. 

“Eliza Raine,” Anne settled back into her chair with a laugh. 

“What?” 

“Oh yeah, my first real girlfriend. One of the more lesbian things I’ve ever done, hook up with my boarding school roommate.” Anne laughed and shook her head; Ann joined her. Anne seemed at ease for the first time all day. “We would spend all afternoon locked in our room practicing. She was a very critical teacher, but I think it worked out.”

Then Anne winked at her, and Ann felt her core clench. She crashed her lips into Anne’s, grabbing her face roughly, half-rising out of her chair. Anne met her ferocity with her own, and for a moment, Ann considered climbing into her lap and having Anne take her here and now. She pulled back for air and decided against it. 

“Take me upstairs, Pony,” she whispered.

“Can’t,” Anne said briskly as she stood. “We have to walk through the garden.”

“Forget the garden,” Ann stood and pressed herself into Anne, wrapping her arms around her neck, “I need you.”

“And you shall have me,” Anne kissed her cheek and pulled away. “After we’ve walked through the garden.”

Anne cleared the table and disappeared inside. Ann sat down in a huff. She was almost painfully aroused, and now Anne wanted to look at flowers? Was this some elaborate form of torture/foreplay? She was pouting by the time Anne returned. 

“Come on, Adney, I want you to see what I’ve done with the place,” Anne extended her arm in a gentlemanly fashion. Ann took it, nuzzling her head into Anne’s shoulder as they walked into the evening sun. 

The garden really did look quite nice. Anne was leading them toward the tulips, which Ann particularly adored. She could tell Anne had taken some care to prune the shrubs, tidy the beds, and pull the weeds; her annoyance lifted. She was really very lucky. This was such a thoughtful gesture, such an understated and practical way of expressing love. Very Anne.

They reached a bench in the garden, surrounded by blooming flowers; in the setting spring sun, it was astonishingly beautiful. Ann broke off from Anne and spun in place slowly, marveling that this was her own garden and she never even paid attention. When she turned back, Anne was on one knee. This time, Ann was certain her heart really did stop. 

“I have been working on what I’m going to say for a while now, so don’t interrupt me, or I’ll be very cross.”

Ann laughed, nodded, bit her lip. 

“I have spent almost my entire life on the move. In boarding school and then Shibden and at uni and in Paris. I told myself I was travelling, but I was on the run, really. Running from difficulties and heartbreak and disappointment. And everyone seemed pretty happy to see me go – my family and the women in my life. I can be,” Anne chuckled ruefully, “I can be a bit full on, as you know. I never stuck around long, because – because I was afraid; the longer I stayed, the more opportunity there was to get hurt. I kept running and travelling, and I acted like that’s what I wanted. But here, over the last two weeks, I’ve been forced to stay still. I haven’t been able to run away, and frankly, you won’t let me.” Anne smiled, but her tone was serious, “you make me confront my feelings and my fears. You have accepted me into your life in a way that I never even imagined was an option. The truth is I hate running. I like travelling, but I like being home, at Shibden, more. I want to live with someone I love, to spend my evening hour with someone who loves me and who is there all of the time, who I can share everything with. For years I didn’t think it was possible for me. I didn’t think I was capable of it. In the past two weeks, you’ve proven me wrong.”

Ann felt her heart catch in her throat when Anne stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out a small round box. She opened it carefully and turned it to face Ann. Inside was a ring, a large onyx in the center, surrounded by a ring of diamonds. Anne looked up at her; her hands were shaking. 

“It’s been two weeks. Not even,” Anne chuckled breathlessly. “But I know I want to spend every day with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Ann Walker,” Anne inhaled deeply, “would you marry me?”

“Yes!” the response burst from Ann’s lungs before she could even think. “Yes, of course, yes, come here."

She hauled Anne up to her by the elbows and crashed their lips together. She could feel Anne’s grin, the desperation in the fingers gripping her hips, the relief in the shoulders under her hands. They kissed for several long moments; Ann recognized the salty tang of tears on her lips – if they were hers or Anne’s she didn’t know. Finally, they separated, panting and grinning. Anne took her hand gently, fumbled with the box, then slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Of course, Anne could guess ring sizes. Of course. 

Anne brought her hand to her lips, kissing her knuckle just above the ring. Ann didn’t think her heart could take any more; it was so full it would surely burst. The sun was setting swiftly, bathing the garden in a deep pink. This corner of the garden was secluded, surrounded by tall hedges and far from the house. Ann glanced over her shoulder. No one would be around this time of day. 

She grabbed Anne sharply by the hips, pressing her lips to Anne’s insistently. Anne hummed in surprise, but soon she tilted her head to deepen the kiss and tangle her hands in Ann’s hair. Ann slid her hands to Anne’s belt, roughly unbuckling and unbuttoning and unzipping. She needed to feel Anne against her tongue, to consume her, to devour her. She backed Anne up to the wrought-iron bench, shoved her pants and boxers roughly over her knees, then pushed her lightly down. Anne exhaled in surprise, the arousal evident on her face even in the low light of the evening. 

“What are you –”

Ann cut her off with a demanding kiss, plumbing her mouth with her tongue. She sank to her knees before the goddess in front of her, teasing her lips once more, before ducking her head between Anne’s knees. Anne gasped at the contact, one hand steadying her on the bench, the other pressing softly into the back of Ann’s head. Ann moved her tongue between Anne’s folds in desperation; her need to taste her was driving her mad. Anne was a goddess, yes, but not some vain, flighty Aphrodite. She was Athena – brilliant, strong, courageous. Ann looked up at her – her eyes half-closed, lips parted, chest heaving. She was whimpering softly, her hips rolling gently against Ann’s lips. Ann moaned into her center, knowing the effect it would have on her; Anne’s hand tightened in her hair, her hips rose further from the bench. Ann flicked her tongue over Anne’s clit once, twice, before taking it between her lips. Anne’s hips were bucking harder, so Ann wrapped her hands under her legs to steady them, reveling in the soft skin and straining muscles under her fingertips.

Ann knew she didn’t have Anne’s way with words, but she needed to show Anne the depth of her affection. Her lips wrote her love for Anne between her legs, her tongue worshiped at her center, her fingers dug her devotion into her skin. Soon Anne was gasping moans into the night air, until, finally, she shuddered forward, holding Ann’s face to her core. Ann slowed her strokes until Anne’s hand eased from her head; she sat back on her heels to admire her handiwork. Anne was panting, her face and chest flushed, her pants around her ankles; she cradled Ann’s face between her hands and brought her up for a slow, deep kiss. Anne’s tongue washed her arousal from her cheeks, and Ann felt her own wetness pooling between her legs. 

She stood and held her hand out. Anne stood on shaky legs, pulling up her boxers and pants. Ann rezipped, rebuttoned, rebuckled; she felt a heady power at this moment of intimacy. Anne might be Athena, but she had just reduced Athena to a shivering, gasping mess. Anne noticed her self-satisfied look, grinned, and caught her lips once more before turning them toward the house. Ann wrapped her arm around Anne’s waist, who draped one arm across her shoulder in return. For a few minutes the only sound was that of their feet in the grass. 

“Good Lord, Adney,” Anne laughed. “I think my mind is only just now catching up to my body.”

“How long have you been planning that?” Ann asked. 

“Having you go down on me in the garden? All my life,” Anne teased.

“Be serious!” Now it was Ann’s turn to laugh. “How long have you been planning to – uh, to ask me to marry you?” Ann felt inexplicably shy saying it out loud. 

“I had Eugenie buy the ring on Thursday.”

“Like yesterday?” Ann was incredulous. 

“Like last Thursday,” Anne teased, matching her tone. 

“You ordered an engagement ring on the fourth day you were here?” Ann stopped them at the base of the stairs. 

“I knew I wanted to marry you the first day I was here,” Anne whispered before catching Ann’s lips in a slow kiss. Did all lovers feel this way? Ann wondered. Was every couple this deliriously happy when they got engaged? She certainly hoped so. 

They stumbled up the stairs, kissing and fumbling and laughing. Anne kicked the bedroom door shut behind them, and immediately pushed Ann onto the bed with a grin. She crawled over the younger woman, and Ann was transported to the first time they’d done this. Anne with that wolfish grin, Ann herself all nerves and anticipation and want. It seemed a lifetime ago. Ann wasn’t sure she would even recognize the naïve girl of ten days ago. Would that girl recognize the Ann of today? Sucking the life from her fiancé in the garden at sunset? 

Ann’s thoughts were cut short by the delicious sensation of Anne’s mouth on her calves, kissing and licking and tracing her way up to the hem of her skirt. Anne’s long fingers slid underneath, hooking in her waistband, then dragging her panties off. Ann twisted her hips impatiently; she’d been needing Anne all day, and it had only gotten worse. She groaned in the back of her throat, hoping to spur Anne on. 

“So impatient, Miss Walker,” Anne purred above her, fingers now tracing circles along her inner thigh. “Or should I say Mrs. Lister?”

On the last word, Anne thrust two fingers into her. Ann gasped at the intrusion, at the filthy tone of Anne’s voice, at the prospect of being her wife. Anne started a slow, steady rhythm, her fingers curling and spreading with every thrust; her thumb slipped over Ann’s clit, and Ann felt herself hurtling for the precipice at an alarming rate. Her hands shot to Anne’s strong shoulders, grasping desperately, as her hips mirrored Anne’s movements. She tried to stave off her release - she wasn’t ready, not yet. She wanted to stay in this moment forever. 

“That’s it, Adney,” Anne’s breath was hot against her ear; her hand sped up as her thumb pressed harder. Ann felt her teeth graze against her jaw. “Come for me, darling girl. Come for me, so I can fuck you properly.”

Whether it was Anne’s vulgar language or the perfect movement of her fingers or the sheer build-up of the entire day, Ann couldn’t be sure. Either way, Ann shuddered and trembled, finishing with a high-pitched gasp. Anne kissed her neck softly as she stilled, then pulled back and stood. She held her hand out and hoisted Ann to unsteady feet, then she ran her hand up to the zipper at the back of Ann’s dress. As she eased it open, Ann went to work on the buttons of her shirt. Their hands fell away in unison; Ann let her dress drop to the floor, and Anne shrugged her shirt from her shoulders. Their lips met again, still slow, still patient. For the second time that night, Anne cradled her face while Ann worked open her belt, then her pants; she sent them gently to the floor. They twisted out of their bras in tandem; there was something poetic about it, removing this final barrier by themselves but also together. Ann’s pleasure-soaked brain couldn’t process it.

Anne eased her to sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt between her knees, mirroring their position in the garden. Ann leaned back into the soft bedding, grateful she got the bed and not the bench. Anne’s tongue pressed to her center like a prayer, soft and hopeful and tender. Ann reached down to hold Anne’s head in her hands, catching sight of the ring on her finger. She watched Anne’s head bob between her legs, the light reflecting from the diamonds, and she felt her release build in her chest. Anne’s tongue probed her center, teased her clit, slid along her folds; she reached one hand up to toy with her breast, the other steadying Ann’s hip. Ann tightened her grip on those chestnut locks. 

“Fuck, Pony,” she moaned, “how are you so fucking good at this?”

Anne laughed, sending reverberations through Ann’s core. Ann moaned again, and Anne took that moment to graze her teeth over Ann’s clit. It was over – Ann came with a low moan, the orgasm so stealthy, she hadn’t even realized she was close. Anne kissed her inner thighs, then her belly, then her sternum, then her lips, before settling on Ann’s side. Ann was still panting, her mind still emerging from its blissful haze. Anne’s fingertips traced her ribs lightly. Ann turned her head to look at this woman who had turned her life upside down in less than a fortnight. She couldn’t find the words. 

“You are so beautiful,” Anne whispered, leaning in to catch Ann’s lips in a slow kiss. “I can’t believe you said yes.”

“Did you think I’d say no?” Ann laughed. 

“Well, I did wonder,” Anne bit her lip, insecurity flashing across her face briefly, before that fiendish grin spread across her face. “But then I remembered how fucking good I am at that,” Anne mimicked Ann’s breathless voice. 

Ann laughed, a good, full-throated guffaw. She swung a leg over Anne’s lap to straddle her, sitting up straight over her thighs and considering her next move. Anne’s hands ran up and down her thighs, that damned grin still covering her face. Ann caught those roaming hands and pressed them into the mattress over Anne’s head. Anne quirked her eyebrow, but said nothing. Ann caught her lips in a fierce kiss, rolling her hips into Anne. 

“Be good, Pony,” Ann breathed against her lips, “hands to yourself.”

Anne groaned, but made no objection. Ann released her hands and shifted to straddle one of Anne’s legs, pressing her wet center to her firm thigh. Anne raised her hands from the mattress, but she settled them back into the sheets with one look from Ann. Ann smirked – this was going to be fun. 

She trailed her hand down Anne’s abdomen, tracing her fingers through Anne’s arousal, before starting slow circles over her clit. Anne was silent, but Ann could see her grasping at the sheets. She rolled her hips, moaning when her clit caught against Anne’s thigh. She started a slow rhythm in her hips and her hand, watching Anne’s eyes slip closed, her knuckles turn white. Ann increased her pace, her fingertips slipping over Anne’s hard bud with increased urgency; Anne’s hips were rutting into her desperately now. Ann dropped to balance on her elbow over her. Both women moaned at the meeting of their slick skin. Ann pressed wet, sloppy kisses along Anne’s neck, before bringing her lips to Anne’s ear. 

“You know you’re mine, don’t you?” She breathed, eliciting a sharp gasp from below her. “You’re mine, Anne Lister,” she nipped at her earlobe – another gasp. “You belong to me. Always and forever.” She strummed Anne’s clit more insistently, and then Anne was grasping at her shoulders, shuddering, mumbling, shaking. Ann pressed soft kisses to her flushed chest as she caught her breath. Anne opened her eyes, and Ann moved to stand up. Anne’s strong hands caught her hips. 

“One more, Adney,” she whispered as she rolled Ann onto her back. “Let me have you one more time.”

Anne dipped her head and kissed her deeply, all wetness and tongue and desire. She trailed her lips down Ann’s neck and over her breasts. Ann sank back into the bedding, closing her eyes and reveling in the sensation of Anne’s teeth and lips. She could feel her arousal dripping between her legs; she rolled her hips into Anne, a less-than-subtle hint. Anne pulled away from her chest with a smile. Not her usual wolfish smile she used for seduction, not the self-satisfied one for when she got what she wanted, not even the smaller one for when she teased Ann. This was a wide, toothy grin paired with the most sincere, honest brown eyes. This was the smile she wore when they woke up in each other’s arms, when Ann came into the room unexpectedly, when Ann had said “yes” in the garden. 

Anne intertwined their legs, and Ann felt a twinge of pride that she was getting better at this. At aligning their cores. At connecting their bodies in this most intimate of ways. At making love. They moaned in harmony when their bodies met, and Anne dropped to her hands over her. Ann stretched her neck to kiss Anne’s neck, her chest, her jaw. Anne interlaced their fingers, pressing her hands into the mattress, and together, their hips started to move. It was so tender and wet and primal; their bodies melding in this basic, dirty, beautiful, intricate way. Ann sensed her release just out of reach – feeling Anne like this was lovely, but she needed more. Anne seemed to read her mind, released one hand, then brought hers up to stroke Ann’s clit gently. That was it, all she needed, she was hurtling for the edge – 

“Anne,” she cried, her voice cracking. She felt wave after wave wash over her, only faintly aware that Anne had leapt over the edge with her and was shuddering above her. They laid like that for a long moment, still panting, until Anne eased their bodies apart and rolled onto her back. The scent of their lovemaking hung heavily in the room, their labored breathing the only sound. 

“Jesus, Pony,” Ann broke the silence. 

“I know,” Anne laughed. “If I’d known it would be that good, I would’ve proposed a lot sooner.”

Ann smacked her arm lightly, and they laughed together as they retrieved their pajamas and settled under the covers, wrapped in each other’s arms. It was a proper romantic evening, Ann thought, as she pressed her back into Anne’s front. Anne’s hand hung loosely over her hip, so Ann took it and pulled it more tightly around her. She drifted off as she studied the way their hands interlaced – Anne’s long, tanned fingers contrasting with her delicate, pale ones, a perfect complement to the strong, dark onyx of her ring, surrounded by small, bright diamonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for everyone who can pick out the Portrait of a Lady on Fire and Vita Sackville-West references. Anne's little Latin quote is from a Sally Wainwright tweet - apparently that was one of her favorite mottoes. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! This chapter is a beast, and I have parts that I love and parts that I think could improve. The coolest thing about writing this story has been getting so much lovely, enlightening feedback from all of you. Rather than sit on this chapter and tinker with it, I'm sending it out into the universe. I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know! But be gentle...


	33. Saturday Morning

For the second time in as many days, Anne woke up to the sound of her cell phone buzzing. She groaned and nuzzled her face more deeply into Ann’s neck. Soft sheets, warm sunlight peeking in the window, Ann’s hair tickling her face, her curves molded to Anne’s, her faint snores filling the room – there was surely no better way to start the day. Eventually, the buzzing stopped, and Anne resisted the urge to check her phone, to know the time, to start the day. She tightened her arm around Ann’s waist and sighed - whoever it was, she decided, they could wait. 

Except, it seemed, they could not. The buzzing started again. Anne burrowed deeper into the pillow. The snoring stopped. 

“Answer the phone,” Ann whined, twisting more deeply into the covers, inadvertently pressing into Anne. Anne felt desire wash warmly over her. She ran her hand up to cup Ann’s breast, pressing a kiss to her neck. The buzzing continued. “Pony, answer that phone.” 

Anne huffed, and rolled onto her back to reach the nightstand. It was Aunt Anne. She sat up hurriedly and answered, her mind racing with a million terrible scenarios. 

“Hello?” her voice was rough, still laced with sleep. 

“Anne!” her aunt’s voice was always a salve; she felt relief wash over her at her chipper tone. “How did it go? I thought I would have heard from you by now! It’s so late!”

Ann turned to face her, mouthing “who is it?” Anne patted her knee, then made to stand up, thinking Ann would want to go back to sleep. Ann grabbed her wrist. Anne settled back against the headboard, holding Ann’s small hand in her lap. 

“Aunt, good morning,” Anne grinned. “It went very well, very well indeed. You were right about the – about everything.” 

“I demand that you tell me every detail,” Anne could hear the smile in her aunt’s voice. She felt a wave of gratitude at her presence, at her good health, at her support for so many years. “Is Ann awake? Can you go get her? I want to hear what she thought. You exaggerate sometimes, you know, and leave out certain details. Go get her, will you?”

“I’ll have to check if she’s awake,” Anne chuckled, winking at Ann. “Ann? Did I wake you?” Anne called as if far away, “want to come talk to my aunt? She is awake, Aunt, what good luck.”

Ann bit her lip to stifle a giggle and sat up, her thigh pressing closely to Anne’s. Anne pulled the phone from her ear and tapped the speakerphone icon. 

“Can you hear us?” she raised her voice to be sure. 

“Hello!” Ann said brightly.

“Good morning,” Aunt Anne’s voice had that excited trill to it. “I have my tea and nothing to do this morning – I want you to tell me every detail.” 

“Well, we ate dinner.”

“No, start before that,” Ann nudged her, then turned her attention to the phone, “your niece spent all day in the garden. I mean, all day! She was trimming and planting and weeding and raking. I was getting sort of annoyed with her.”

“Oh yes,” Aunt Anne laughed, “that’s our Anne!”

“Aunt!” Anne protested, “you told me to spruce up the garden! That was your idea!”

“Anyway, we got all dressed up,” Ann continued, over the bright laughter on the other end of the line. “Anne told me to wear something nice, which was a little confusing, since we have nowhere to go, but I like an excuse to put on a nice dress. Anne cooked paella, which was delicious, and –”

“Hold on,” Aunt Anne interrupted, “Anne cooked? Anne Lister? That Anne Lister who’s there with you now?”

“Yes,” Ann said slowly, confused. 

“Aunt, you know I’m a fine cook.”

“I have known you for your entire life, and I have never known you to willingly cook one morsel of food.”

“You’re kidding!” Ann laughed, nudging Anne’s shoulder. Anne’s cheeks grew warm – Ann was going to discover all her secrets before this call was over. The thought made her excited, for once, instead of terrified. She shook her head in resignation. “Anne has cooked almost every meal for me for the past two weeks.”

“Wonders never cease!” Aunt Anne laughed. 

“Well, we ate,” Anne tried to take control of the conversation, “and I told Ann, um, a few things I wanted her to know.”

“Like we talked about,” Aunt Anne said approvingly. 

“And we walked in the garden,” Ann cut in, “and it was so gorgeous. I mean, I know it’s my own property, but it was so wonderful at sunset and all the flowers that are blooming right now. Anne had done some really great improvements, Miss Lister, it was –”

“Ann dear,” Aunt Anne interrupted, “I insist that you call me Aunt.” Ann blushed and looked down at her lap; Anne hadn’t thought she could adore this woman any more, but here she was. She pecked a kiss to her cheek. “Now, tell me about the garden, one of you.”

“It’s lovely, Aunt; Ann has these gorgeous shrubs and rolling hills and perfectly spaced patches of flowers. We really must do something like that at Shibden. I’ve been thinking a lot about –”

“Later, dear, so what did you say?”

“Well, I think it’s rather private,” Anne hedged with a questioning glace to Ann. Of course she would tell her aunt anything, but she wasn’t sure if Ann would want to share the moment with a woman she barely knew. 

“It was lovely,” Ann said with a squeeze of her hand. “Anne talked about how long she’s spent running around trying to find someone, and that being with me has forced her to sit still. And how much she loves me, and - I don’t – I mean I can’t say it like she did, but – well, it was beautiful. It was really, really sweet. And she was down on one knee, you know, proper romantic. And she was wearing this white shirt and the light was –”

“Hold on,” Aunt Anne interrupted, “white shirt? Are you sure you have the right person? My niece only wears black, has done for – oh, 16 – what, 17 years.”

“I have got a white shirt,” Anne defended herself, “and some navy-blue pants. I decided I’m not in mourning anymore.”

No one spoke for a moment. Each of them knew the significance of this statement. Anne took Ann’s face in her free hand, stroking her thumb along her cheek before catching her lips in the briefest of kisses. 

“And I asked her to marry me, and, if you can believe it, she said yes.”

Aunt Anne’s excited laughter filled the room. Ann dropped her head to Anne’s shoulder, and Anne felt certain she had never known happiness this deep. 

“That is so – I can’t even tell you how pleased I am for you,” Aunt Anne had that giddy voice on again, the one that made Anne feel like a child on Christmas morning. “You’ll be coming home on Monday, is that right?”

“Yes,” Anne said, her mind already floating to the practical, “Ann and I will be coming to Shibden Monday morning, first thing. I feel certain this cook does not have the virus, and, anyway, we’ve been in isolation for two weeks. Ann is going to bring some of her things, and then we’ll go from there.”

“Good. Now you’re going to tell your sister and your father what you’ve just told me.”

“What?” Anne exhaled, incredulous. The last thing she wanted to do on this perfect morning was have a conversation with her father or, worse, Marian.

“You haven’t spoken to either of them since you’ve been gone, and you can’t bring a fiancé home to stay and not tell them. It’s rude.”

“It’s my house, Aunt. I can bring home whomever I like.” 

Ann squeezed her knee and shot her a look, but Anne couldn’t figure out what she was trying to communicate. Why couldn’t everyone just let her handle things as she saw fit?

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. Oh look, Marian has just stepped into the room, I’ll hand my phone to her, how perfect.”

Anne grimaced, rolling her eyes at Ann. She wondered briefly if her aunt was pulling the same trick she had earlier and Marian had been there the whole time. 

“Hello?” Marian’s perpetually annoyed voice filled the room. 

“Marian, it’s Anne. I’m here with Ann Walker.”

“Oh,” Marian’s voice betrayed nothing. “What is it?”

“I’m very well, Marian, thanks for asking,” Anne felt annoyance stirring in her belly already. 

“As am I, not that you’d be interested.”

Anne clenched her jaw. Could Marian not take one day off from pushing her buttons? 

“Well, I’ve called to tell you Ann Walker will be coming to live with me. At Shibden. On Monday. We are, uh, engaged.” 

Silence – Anne bit her lip, cursing Marian in her mind. Now she would make Ann feel unwelcome, Ann would spend all day in an anxiety spiral, and they wouldn’t even get to enjoy the remainder of their seclusion. She could feel Ann tensing beside her. 

“That’s wonderful!” came Marian’s sincere, enthusiastic voice. 

“Really?” Anne looked at the phone in disbelief. 

“Sure, I adore little Ann Walker. She was here about a month ago, maybe six weeks? She seems very sweet, interesting. It’ll be nice to have her in the house. Someone young.”

“I’m young.” 

“You’re not.”

“Compared to Aunt and Father I am.” Ann was giggling beside her; Anne nudged her in mock offense. 

“Someone young and reasonable then. It’ll be a nice change.”

“Hi Marian,” Ann was grinning, clearly enjoying the sisterly rivalry. 

“Hello Miss Walker, I’m looking forward to seeing you. I can’t imagine what you see in my sister, but I’m happy to have you join our family. Alright, now Anne –”

All three Ann(e)s responded at once:

“Pardon?” Aunt Anne asked loudly.  
“Yes?” Ann’s voice was timid.   
“What?” Anne barked. 

“Oh this is going to be fun,” Marian laughed, “Anne Lister, sister of mine, I’m very pleased for you, even if I can’t imagine how you tricked this poor girl into marrying you. Congratulations.” Anne rolled her eyes at Ann, who laughed softly. “I’m going to carry this phone down to Father. Aunt, I’ll be right back.”

“How is Shibden?” Anne asked. She could hear Marian walking down the stairs, breathing heavily into the phone. 

“Fine, everything is fine.” Marian was clipped. She was always so annoyed when Anne inquired after her own estate, but Anne tried not to let it bother her today. “Here he is – Father,” Marian was shouting now, which only rankled Anne more, “Father, I have Anne on the phone. She’s with Miss Walker,” this last part Marian half-whispered, half-shouted. Anne rolled her eyes. 

“Dr. Lister,” Jeremy’s gruff voice came through clearly. 

“Captain,” Anne straightened her back, lowered her voice. Something about conversations with her father made her more formal, guarded almost. Long ago they had shifted into this relationship, more like colleagues than family; the ownership and management of Shibden was a source of unspoken tension, as well as Jeremy’s occasional requests for loans. His army pension was always disappearing, and Anne’s university salary, publishing loyalties, and estate income were his safety net. She didn’t begrudge him this, but it was less than comfortable. Their relationship was a tightrope – sometimes paternal, sometimes businesslike, sometimes jovial. 

“How are you?” Jeremy asked bluntly. 

“Well. And you?”

“Well.”

“Look, how would you feel if Ann Walker were to move in with me? We are – we plan to marry.”

“I should be very happy for you. It’s time you settled.”

Though his words were few, they meant everything to Anne. Jeremy’s lifelong exasperation with her amused Anne on the surface, but she did genuinely want to make him proud of her. She appreciated his approval. She had come far enough that she didn’t need it and their disagreements didn’t bother her anymore, but she couldn’t deny the warm spot in her chest at having his support.

“Thank you, Captain Lister,” Ann jumped in, clearly trying to fill the dead space between father and daughter. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

Jeremy grunted noncommittally, and there was a bit of shuffling on the other end of the line. Anne squeezed Ann’s hand with a reassuring glance; the poor girl looked confused at his non-answer. 

“Do you know what you’re getting into with this one, Miss Walker?”

“Yes, sir,” Ann said bravely, “I believe I do.”

“Has she told you about the time she asked me for a hundred pounds and my permission to gallivant across Europe dressed as a man?” Jeremy chuckled. Anne shook her head at Ann, hoping she wouldn’t believe it. 

“No,” Ann smiled and raised her eyebrows, “I don’t think she has.”

“Or the time I dragged her out of a smoke-filled bar by the scruff of her neck? Three in the morning, she was hustling a group of reprobates from the 33rd at cards,” Jeremey was laughing heartily. 

“Yes,” Ann laughed, “actually she did mention that.”

“Then I guess you know what you’re in for,” Jeremy’s voice was warming and teasing. Anne felt a surge of affection for him. Usually his reminders of her youthful indiscretions were annoying and embarrassing, but today Anne didn’t mind. She was still buoyant, floating in the wake of last night, Ann’s kisses, her family’s eccentric but lovable ways. Nothing could bother her. 

“I salute your bravery, young Miss Walker,” Jeremy said with a chuckle, and then there was more shuffling on the phone, unintelligible whispers. 

“Well that’s done then,” Marian was back. “We’ll see you Monday?”

“Yes, Marian, we will,” Anne hung up and turned to capture Ann’s lips with her own. They kissed tenderly, until Ann pulled away and tilted her head coyly. 

“Sometime you’ll have to tell me that Europe story.”

“Good Lord,” Anne laughed and hung her head. “I cannot believe he told you that.” Anne squeezed her hand with a roll of her eyes. She hadn’t thought about how embarrassing her family would be, how many skeletons they could produce from her closet. 

“I really like your aunt,” Ann said shyly, “and your sister.”

“Oh, I’m already regretting putting you and Marian together.” Anne teased, bringing their lips together again. It was worth it, she decided, whatever Marian or her father did, to have Ann in her life. She pushed Ann gently onto her back, rolling her hips slowly. Ann nipped at her lip, then pulled away. Anne quirked an eyebrow. 

“I want to call my sister,” Ann whispered, “and eat something.”

On cue, her stomach rumbled, and Anne laughed, settling back on her heels. Ann slipped out from underneath her, stood, and started to get dressed. Normally, Anne would be driven mad with desire at the sight of Ann’s nude body, but this morning she felt unnaturally calm. Their whole lives stretched before them, no need to rush. Ann kissed her lightly before drifting out of the room. No rush, Anne reminded herself as she pulled out fresh clothes for the day. That discrete black box peeked out from the dresser drawer. No rush, she thought, but that didn’t mean they had to be boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The comments on the last chapter were so lovely and supportive and kind. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. Thank you!
> 
> I really enjoyed writing the Listers. I'm thinking of doing a sequel, once this story wraps up, about the Ann(e)s once they reach Shibden. Is that interesting? Or would a totally different story be more engaging? Let me know!


	34. Saturday Afternoon

Ann sat on the couch in the library and flipped open her computer. She was positively buzzing with excitement. Some left over from the previous night, but mostly from this morning. Talking to Anne’s family was exhilarating. It had been a thrill to meet them all those weeks ago, when they were just her eccentric neighbors, a connection to the mythical Anne Lister of her dreams; now they were her future in-laws. She grinned at the thought. 

Elizabeth answered her Skype call after a few tries. Normally Ann would’ve waited for her to call back, but she was too excited today. She held up her ring to the camera on her laptop, smiling widely. 

“Anne Lister asked me to marry her last night!” she was nearly shouting. 

“Goodness gracious,” Elizabeth laughed, “did she really?”

“Yes! Liz, oh my God, it was perfect. She cooked me dinner, and she told me I had taught her what love means. Seriously! She is so eloquent - you can’t even believe. And then we walked in the garden, and – oh, she had spent, like, all day in the garden pulling weeds and stuff. Which kind of pissed me off at first,” Ann knew she was rushing, talking too quickly, but she couldn’t stop herself. “But then I realized she had done it for me; it’s her way of apologizing and saying she loves me. We were walking, and I turned around – just kind of looking, you know? And when I turned back to her, she was on one knee!”

Elizabeth gasped appropriately, nodding and smiling. Anne appeared in the doorway, two plates in her hands. Grilled cheese. Just when Ann thought she couldn’t love her any more. 

“And now Anne is here! Anne, come say hi!”

Anne rounded the couch and plopped next to her.

“Hi, Elizabeth.”

“Hi, Anne.”

“I was telling her about last night,” Ann told Anne before turning back to the screen. “So she’s on one knee, and she makes this speech about how long she’s been looking for someone to settle down with and she wants to spend the rest of her life with me. With me, Liz! I mean, can you –”

“It sounds lovely, Annie,” Elizabeth seemed genuinely pleased, but not surprised. Ann squinted at her. 

“You don’t seem shocked at all. All of a sudden I’m engaged? I’m going to get married? To Anne Lister? I mean –”

“I’m going to tell you something, and don’t get upset.” Elizabeth said gently. “Anne told me she was going to propose to you. Earlier this week, when we talked. She showed me the ring and everything.”

Ann scoffed, then turned to look at Anne, who was innocently chewing on her sandwich. Ann turned back to the laptop. 

“Seriously?”'

Elizabeth nodded with a shrug. 

“You’re not at all surprised that I’m engaged to a woman, to Anne Lister no less?”

“Well, no,” Elizabeth said with a chuckle. “I mean, when we were girls, you made us spend hours dissecting her every visit. You couldn’t stop talking about her. It sort of makes sense.” Elizabeth shrugged again. Ann figured she had never been very subtle when it came to Anne Lister of Shibden Hall. “And she warned me, told me ahead of time she was going to propose, so … it’s not to say I’m not very pleased for you, I really am, Annie. Believe me. Are you going to live together?”

“Yes,” Ann picked up her sandwich, “we’re going to Shibden on Monday.”

“You won’t stay at Crow Nest?” Elizabeth did actually seem surprised at that. Ann was chewing, so she looked to Anne.

“We’ve talked about it,” Anne said, “and, as lovely as this house is, it is really important to me to be at Shibden. To live there. You know, my elderly aunt and my father and my sister all live there, and I manage the property, so I would be there all the time anyway. I think, or I hope, Ann will like it. I will do everything I can to make her happy and comfortable there.”

“And your father doesn’t mind? You setting up home in his house?”

“Oh,” Anne furrowed her brow, “it’s my house. My uncle left it to me. My family lives there as a courtesy, but – it’s my house.” 

“I see,” Elizabeth nodded. Ann felt inexplicably nervous – was Anne too blunt? Too businesslike? Would Elizabeth mind their giving up Crow Nest?

“I haven’t thought about what to do with this house,” Ann offered, “do you have any opinion?”

“No, no, uh, we can sell it or lease it out or – I’m sorry, I really can’t believe you’ll be living at Shibden. You hardly like to leave the house, Ann, won’t moving be a bit stressful for you?”

Ann could tell Elizabeth was trying to be gentle, but she resented her bringing it up. She had suffered from agoraphobia in the past, but she had improved so much since then. Besides, she was often lonely in this enormous house by herself. She was looking forward to being in a house filled with people, even if it would be unfamiliar. Anyway, she could handle anything with Anne by her side. 

“Honestly, I look at this house, and it makes me so depressed. I mean, it’s just empty. What’s the pointing in having all of these things if there’s no one to enjoy them with? Everyone is gone, and you’re in Scotland, and – I – I think I would like to be around people, to have someone to eat my meals with and bump into in the hallway and chat with in the evenings. I’ll have Anne, but I’ll also have a family, Liz. I haven’t had that in a long time.”

Ann hadn’t realized the depth of her feelings until she’d said them out loud. Elizabeth didn’t say anything for a beat, and Ann feared she’d offended her. 

“I understand,” Elizabeth nodded, then paused, then smiled, “and I’m happy for you. Now let me see that ring again!” 

Ann laughed, and they spent the next half hour chatting and eating and laughing. Eventually, Anne rose and took their plates to the kitchen. 

“Are you happy? Really, Ann, be honest.” Elizabeth’s eyes were so earnest. 

“Yes, really. I am. I have never been this happy,” Ann couldn’t suppress her grin. “I love Anne, and she loves me. I always wondered how people could be so sure if someone else loved them, but I am. I know it.”

“Good,” Elizabeth’s grin matched her own. “I’m so proud of you, baby sister. Alright, the kids are coming back from their daily march; I’ll talk to you later.”

Ann was left with a blank screen and a full heart. She was contemplating her good fortune when Anne returned, a smug sort of smile on her lips. Ann stood and wrapped her arms around her neck. They kissed languidly. Ann pressed herself into Anne, then shifted back. Was Anne really – 

“Are you…?” Ann trailed off.

By way of an answer, Anne took one hand from behind her head and brought it to her leg. The bulge was unmistakable. Ann’s jaw dropped open, as desire flooded her veins.

“Yes,” Anne purred. 

“Have you been wearing – that – this whole time?”

Anne nodded, bringing Ann’s hand back to her shoulder and grinding her hips into Ann’s. 

“You spoke to my sister with a …”

“Say it, Ann,” Anne’s voice was rough. 

“With a cock between your legs.”

“Oh yeah,” Anne grinned and pulled Anne flush to her to crash their lips together. They were both desperate, their tongues tangling as their hands fiddled with waistbands. Ann gasped at the feeling of Anne’s strong hands on her ass, having sent her shorts and panties to the floor; she struggled to focus on Anne’s button and zipper. Finally, finally, she was able to push jeans and boxers over Anne’s hips. Ann dropped to her knees, adjusting the straps so the cock stood to attention; she felt a flood of arousal at this intimate, practical task. With a coy look at Anne, she brought her lips to the tip of her cock, pressing the base against Anne’s center as she ran her tongue along the length of it. Anne’s hand tangled roughly in her hair, and Ann grinned at the moan that escaped her. She had just taken the tip into her mouth, when Anne pulled her up roughly. 

“I have to have you,” Anne panted as she lifted Ann into her arms. Ann wrapped her legs around Anne’s waist, moaning softly at the feeling of the cock below her, moving along her folds with each step. Anne pressed her roughly into the wall, then pulled back to align her cock with Ann’s core. Ann left her body, saw them from above – both still wearing their t-shirts, bare from the waist down, huddled against the wall, in her library, in the middle of the afternoon. But she slammed back into her body when Anne’s cock did the same. 

Ann’s head fell back against the wall, her hands gripping so tightly along Anne’s shoulders she was sure to leave a mark. She adjusted to the stretch of Anne’s cock, to the feeling of the cool silicone inside of her, to the unique sensation of being fucked up against a wall. Anne was searching her eyes, waiting for permission. 

“Fuck me,” she breathed. 

Anne pulled out slowly, then drove back into Ann. She kept this rhythm for several strokes, slowly increasing her speed, until she was rutting against Ann in earnest. Ann dropped her head to Anne’s shoulder, burying her face in her neck. Her thighs strained, her teeth nipped, her hips canted roughly against Anne’s. She could feel Anne’s cock brushing that exquisite spot inside of her, and she moaned into Anne’s neck. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot like this,” Anne panted in her ear. “I can’t believe how good you feel. I can’t believe I get to marry you.”

Ann whimpered, nodding into Anne’s shoulder. She was so close – she just needed a little more. Anne must have sensed that, because she started to move one hand from under Ann’s thigh. Ann slipped, crying out; she couldn’t hold herself up anymore. Anne replaced her hand and kissed her neck. If Ann could think straight, she would’ve been impressed that Anne’s hips never faltered. 

“Rub yourself for me, baby, can you do that?” Anne husked in her ear. “I’ve got you. You’re so close, aren’t you?” Ann nodded, snaking her hand down between their bodies. “That’s it, that’s right, baby.”

The first swipe to her clit was electric, and she cried out into Anne’s neck. She flicked her clit furiously, her fingertips brushing lightly past Anne’s cock as it thrust into her relentlessly. She felt her inner walls clench, and the warmth of her release cover her body. Anne slowed her thrusts, then slipped out of her entirely. She set Ann on the ground, and stepped back with a satisfied grin. 

“Good God, Pony,” she breathed. Anne laughed and turned to sit at the desk. She slumped back in the chair, clearly spent from the effort of holding Ann up against the wall. 

Ann watched her – chest heaving, eyes closed, face flushed, pink cock standing proudly in the air. She sauntered over to her and knelt between her legs. She placed a feather-light kiss to the inside of one of Anne’s knees, then the other. Anne’s eyes eased open; she was still breathing heavily, but now she had that open-mouthed, panting smile on. Ann wrapped her hand around the base of the cock, made eye contact with the woman above her, then drove it firmly into her core. 

Anne slumped forward with a gasp. Ann felt a rush of pride at getting it right. She continued to press the base of the cock against Anne’s core, reveling in the short gasps she was eliciting. Anne’s hips lifted from the chair, begging for more friction. Ann had no choice but to relent, grinding the cock firmly against Anne’s clit. Anne’s eyes slipped closed, and she started muttering unintelligibly. Ann sped up her movements until Anne shuddered, her head falling backward. Ann sat back on her heels, admiring her handiwork. Anne’s eyes drifted open, and she pulled Ann into her lap, her knees bracketing Anne’s strong thighs. 

“God, I love you,” Anne breathed against her lips, before kissing her sloppily. For several minutes they stayed like that, trading wet kisses and soft moans. Anne’s hands slid under Ann’s shirt, up to her breasts, cupping them in her warm hands. Ann arched her back in the touch; she whimpered when Anne circled her nipples, tweaking them gently between her thumb and forefinger. She was suddenly aware of the warm silicone pressing against her belly. 

She tugged her t-shirt over her head and lifted up on her knees. Anne’s eyes were wide as she aligned her cock with Ann’s entrance. Ann sank down with a whine; Anne stretched her in the most delicious way. Anne’s hands settled on her hips and, for a beat, they were still. Then Anne’s strong hands started to guide her in a gentle rocking rhythm. Ann used her shoulders to steady herself as she rode Anne slowly, feeling her breasts bounce with every roll of her hips. She gasped when she felt Anne’s warm mouth cover her breast, her hands shooting to Anne’s head to hold her closer. Their hips sped up, the room filling with the dirty sound of their flesh meeting. Ann whimpered and whined at the tireless thrust of Anne’s hips, the infinite tenderness of her tongue, the firm press of her hands. Finally, one of those hands slid between their bodies to flick Ann’s clit in time with her strokes. 

“Fuck,” Ann breathed, her head lolling back on her shoulders. She was on fire, everywhere, unable to focus on anything; all she knew was the tidal wave of pleasure threatening to overwhelm her. “Yes, Pony,” she moaned as she felt her inner walls clench, “yes, yes, yes.”

She was gone – lost to the slick slide of their bodies, the teasing teeth around her nipple, the cock filling her so perfectly; she shuddered, dropping her head to Anne’s shoulder and digging her nails into her warm skin. Anne thrust into her a few more times before stilling, allowing Ann’s breast to fall from her lips. She ran her hands gently up and down Ann’s back as she opened her eyes. Anne was wild – red-faced, hair tangled, jaw slack, pupils dilated. Sensitive as she was, Ann knew she needed her again. She lurched forward and crashed their lips together, groaning at the sensation of the cock shifting within her. 

Suddenly she was in the air, crashing into the cool wood of the desk. Ann wrapped her arms around Anne’s neck and hooked her feet around her lower back, taking her deeper. Anne moaned above her, and Ann knew she was close. Ann rolled her hips, pressing into the woman above her, fucking Anne with her own cock. Anne’s arms shot to the desktop, steadying herself as she rutted into Ann desperately. Ann nipped at her neck and tightened her grasp around her waist, grinding their hips together. Anne gasped and trembled over her; Ann slowed her movements as she took in her favorite sight – Anne Lister coming unraveled. 

Eventually Anne straightened and pulled gently out of her. Ann whined softly at the loss. Anne collapsed back into the desk chair, and for a beat they stared at each other with that tired, just-fucked grin on each of their faces. Ann couldn’t believe this was her life – the dirtiest sex she could imagine with the woman of her dreams. The emotions and laughter and support and love were, of course, the main thing, but the physical chemistry between them was almost too much to process.

“I’ve had a thought,” Anne said, still slightly out of breath, “and if you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it. I won’t be cross.”

“What?” Ann’s skin tingled with anticipation. 

“I have been thinking about,” Anne stood and stepped closer, whispering into Ann’s ear, “bending you over this desk until you scream my name.”

Ann exhaled shakily, her core already clenching at Anne’s words. She nodded frantically. 

“Is that a yes?” Anne purred, her warm hands tracing Ann’s thighs. 

“Yes,” Ann breathed, “God, yes, please.”

Ann scrambled off the desk, then turned her back to Anne. She felt almost shy at this – not that they hadn’t been in this position before, but presenting herself so bluntly. It was nerve-wracking and thrilling at once. Anne wrapped her arms around Ann’s middle, stretching her neck to catch her lips. Ann melted into the embrace, pressing back into Anne’s firm body, feeling that silicone sliding along her back. Anne kissed her deeply, with a tenderness that contradicted the wanton thing they were about to do. After a few moments, Ann broke the kiss and bent forward, balancing her forearms on the desk. Anne hummed appreciatively behind her. 

“You are so perfect, Adney,” she whispered, her hands running across Ann’s back, over her ass, along her hips. “I love you so much.”

Ann bit her lip, growing impatient. She pressed her hips backwards – then shot forward when Anne spanked her. The delicious tingling along her ass shot straight to her core, causing a flood of arousal. She pressed her hips back again, desperate for another. Anne did not disappoint. 

“God, I love fucking you,” Anne breathed with a slap. Ann keened. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” Slap. “You’re ready for it?” Slap. “For me to fuck you?” Slap. “With my cock?” Slap. “That you bought for me?” Slap.

Ann was panting in earnest now, her breathy cries augmenting the sharp sound of Anne’s hands against her flesh. Anne chuckled behind her and started to massage her burning cheeks. Ann could feel her arousal drip down her inner thigh. If Anne didn’t take her soon, she was going to lose her mind. 

“I can’t believe you bought me this,” Anne was saying, her tone conversational, even as she dragged the tip through Ann’s sopping folds. “How bold little Ann Walker is. How wanton. How delicious.” On this final word, Anne buried her entire length in Ann’s tight center. Ann dropped her head to the desk, moaning loudly at the intrusion. “And how perfect you are, with my cock splitting you open.”

With that, Anne started slow but firm strokes, pulling out almost entirely before pressing back in until her hips met Ann’s ass. Ann reveled in the feeling of being so perfectly filled, the exquisite pressure of hands on her hips, the soft leather meeting her skin with every thrust. Anne increased her strokes, and soon she was rutting into Ann as hard as she ever had. Ann was completely at her mercy, her entire body moving with every forceful thrust; her mind was blank, awash with pleasure. Anne was merciless as she pounded into Ann. Ann was gasping now; every roll of Anne’s hips hit that sublime spot inside of her. 

“You take me so well,” Anne panted above her, snaking her hand around to strum Ann’s clit. “I can’t believe you’re mine. You’re mine.” Ann nodded furiously. “Say it,” Anne grunted, her hips still smacking relentlessly against Ann’s ass. 

“I –” Ann could hardly speak, her orgasm just millimeters away, “I’m yours.” Anne spanked her. “Anne,” she begged – another spank. “Anne, Anne, Anne.” Ann came with a shout, her tight walls clamping around Anne’s cock. She collapsed into the warm wood of the desk, panting and trembling as wave after wave crashed into her. She was vaguely aware of Anne fiddling with the harness behind her, of her low groans and sharp gasps, of the slick sound of Anne touching herself; finally, Anne shuddered and fell onto her back. Anne’s damp t-shirt pressed into her slick back. 

Anne straightened, easing the cock out, then Ann heard the buckles and a soft thud. When she stood, Anne was sitting in that damned desk chair, clad only in her t-shirt, strap discarded on the floor beside her. Ann crossed the short distance between them, feeling deliciously sore between her legs. Anne took her hips and slung her across her lap, wrapping one hand around her waist and the other around her knees. Ann leaned into her chest, marveling at the sound of Anne’s still-racing heart. 

“You’ve been thinking about that?” Ann whispered, teasing. Her fingertips traced Anne’s clavicle over her shirt. 

“I have,” Anne purred.

“How’d we do? Live up to your fantasy?”

“Oh, Ann,” Anne caught her chin and raised her head so their eyes met. “You’re better than any fantasy I’ve ever had.” 

Ann caught her lips then, hoping Anne would understand her gratitude, her excitement, her adoration. From the way Anne kissed her back, she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> There is a diary entry where Ann tells Anne, basically, "what's the point of having all this stuff if I don't have anyone to enjoy it with," but I've lost the date for it. I wanted to make sure I was representing Total Hornog Anne Lister, so that's where the second half of this chapter came from. 
> 
> I am so incredibly appreciative of your feedback! I am positively overwhelmed by your kind words on the last chapter. I'm already making plans and schemes for the sequel to this bad boy. Thank you!


	35. Saturday Night

“If this professor thing doesn’t work out, you could try being a hairstylist,” Ann teased, her head tilted back and eyes closed as Anne gently massaged conditioner into her hair. Anne hummed at the thought.

“I don’t know, Adney, do you really want me doing this with anyone else?” 

They had settled into Ann’s immense bathtub after dinner. They’d watched a movie most of the afternoon, not that Anne could remember anything about it; she’d fallen asleep almost instantly. Perhaps it was the relief of the proposal going so well, the soft weight of Ann curled on her chest, or maybe it was sheer physical exhaustion from their afternoon in the library. Either way, Anne woke to carefully laid out pad thai in the TV room, the sun already setting outside. Ann hadn’t seemed to mind, though she’d teased Anne a little. She had even suggested this bath. Anne knew she’d better take it easy tonight, given the paces she’d put Ann through this afternoon, so she was making the most of this opportunity to touch her fiancé. 

“I suppose not,” Ann sighed and sank under the water to rinse the conditioner from her hair. Anne felt a twinge of arousal at the sight of her naked body under the water, the inadvertent brush of her scalp against her stomach. Take it easy, Lister, she admonished herself. 

Ann emerged from the water and settled back against her; she laid her left hand along Anne’s bent knee, the other tracing up and down Anne’s arm propped on the side of the tub. Anne admired the ring on her finger. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to that sight: Ann wearing her ring proudly. Not on a chain or in secret, but right there, for anyone to see. 

“I love this ring, Miss Walker, where did you get it?”

“This devilishly handsome woman gave it to me – can you believe it?” Ann teased, squeezing Anne’s knee. “She said she wanted to marry me.”

“Sounds like a lucky lady.”

Ann hummed her agreement. Her hand continued to flex on Anne’s knee, as if she were admiring the ring from different angles. 

“What kind of wedding do you want?” Ann asked quietly. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Anne chuckled; “what kind of wedding do you want?”

“I have no idea,” Ann sounded like she was talking to herself; “I never thought I’d get married.”

“What kind of wedding did your sister have?”

“Oh, courthouse!” Ann laughed, “it stunk. They had to wait forty-five minutes to get married by some dolt in a mismatched suit. I was their witness, along with some random dude there for a traffic citation. It was decidedly not romantic.”

“I would’ve thought the Sutherlands would have some big, lavish do.”

“No, he’s in the military,” Ann explained. “I think he was about to get deployed, or he thought he was or – something like that. It was all very practical, which is so Liz you would not believe.”

“Oh yeah?” Anne chuckled.

“Yes,” Ann sighed, and Anne could tell this was a lifelong irritant. “She makes me so crazy. I went out to a bar with her once – once! – and this guy tried to buy her a drink. He was handsome, and this was before she was married. But she already had a drink, so she said, ‘thanks a lot, but can you just use that money to make a donation to a charity you believe in?’ I mean! What is that?”

Ann laughed and shook her head in disbelief; Anne joined her. She brought her left hand up to Ann’s, interlacing her fingers on top of her knee. 

“So she’s not very romantic, then,” Anne chuckled.

“No,” Ann drawled, as if exasperated. 

“You haven’t answered my question,” Anne squeezed her hand. “What kind of wedding do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Ann tilted her head back to look at the ceiling, leaning onto Anne’s shoulder. “Something small. I have too many uncles and cousins and aunts I’d like to avoid.” Anne chuckled. “Maybe something outdoors, springtime, lots of flowers. You and me. That’s all I really want. To be your wife.”

Ann twisted her head to meet Anne’s gaze, and Anne had no choice but to bring their lips together. Anne pulled away, but then Ann tilted her chin. No choice. They kissed like that for several minutes – all tender lips and soft gazes. 

“You’re a bit of a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” Anne whispered, a teasing smile on her lips. 

“You’re one to talk.”

“Me?” Anne laughed

“Yes!” Ann was laughing too; she raised a finger as she numbered off reasons. “Spending a full day in the garden to prepare it for a sunset proposal? A sunset proposal! Buying an engagement ring after less than a week! Adney!”

“What’s wrong with Adney?” 

“Anne, darling, you came up with a pet name for me that’s based on Latin and botany and our growth together through our relationship. It’s lovely,” Ann implored, turning to face Anne again, “a bit sappy, and definitely very romantic.”

Anne clicked her tongue noncommittally. She didn’t appreciate being accused of romanticism, of sappiness. It didn’t fit her carefully curated image of nonchalance and rakishness. 

“Pony,” Ann whined, “don’t pout. It’s one of your best qualities. It’s part of who you are.”

Anne considered, but said nothing.

“Look, do you remember when I came to Shibden as a teenager, with my cousin Atkinson and his wife? We were returning something or borrowing something – I don’t know. I was sixteen. Do you remember?”

Anne did, though vaguely, and hummed her assent. 

“We were in your sitting room, and you were talking to my cousin so animatedly. I was frozen, of course,” Ann chuckled, “and you were sitting next to me. You spread your legs so wide, you took up so much space, that your knee brushed mine. I mean, I couldn’t breathe! But then your aunt came in the room, and you shot up to offer her your seat. At first I was so disappointed, but then you kind of perched on the arm of the sofa – do you remember? You put her your hand along the back of the sofa, right behind me, and kind of balanced over me. You were so close and you kept leaning down to make eye contact and include me in the conversation. I was just intoxicated.” 

Anne grinned at the memory. That arm-of-the-sofa trick was a favorite, a good excuse to look down a blouse, if possible. Certainly it helped get her closer to a pretty young thing, like teenage Ann Walker. She always enjoyed a bit of careless flirting with a pretty girl, but she had been so wrapped up in Mariana that she didn’t give Ann another thought after she left. 

“You had this gentlemanly manner, in your speech and in your movements,” Ann continued. “You were so proper and generous and effortless, but also sort of brooding and mysterious. You were already in all black by then. I wanted to meet you on the moors, for you to sweep me up in your arms. All very Jane Austen. You have that way about you.”

Anne felt her chest constrict at Ann’s words. The very things Mariana hated about her were the things that had drawn Ann to her. How much time I’ve wasted, she thought with a shake of her head, when Ann was here all along. 

“So when I say you’re romantic, I mean it,” Ann pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “It’s just how you are, and I love that about you.”

“Well,” Anne cleared her throat, “that’s very flattering.” She found her throat inexplicably dry. “I couldn’t help looming over you like that – I could never resist a pretty face.”

“You’re a beast, Anne Lister,” Ann laughed. 

Anne sighed, and they settled into a comfortable silence. 

“Tomorrow we should tell the whole of your tribe,” Anne said, her mind shifting to the practicalities of moving Ann to Shibden. “You aunt at Cliffhill –”

“Not yet,” Ann said simply.

“Then I think the rest of them,” Anne hadn’t even registered Ann’s words, “the Edwards, the Priestleys, who no doubt will need a bit of persuading, then the Rawsons –”

“Not yet,” Ann stood, water cascading from her pale frame. She stepped out of the tub. Anne sat up sharply. 

“I think it’s best to crack on with these things, and then –”

“I know you do, but I think we should wait a few days,” Ann bent over to towel-dry her hair. 

“Well, yes, but –”

“Why don’t I move in first?” Ann straightened and started running a comb through her damp hair. “Bring all my things over to Shibden –”

“Ah –” Anne tried to cut in, stepping out of the tub herself.

“Well, not all of them,” Ann barreled ahead, “because they wouldn’t fit. But the important things. Then we can tell everyone.”

“Actually, yes, that’s –” Anne tried again, toweling her body dry. 

“Good,” Ann smiled, pulling her hair into a bun on the top of her head. 

“Good,” Anne agreed, “A much better idea.” She stepped closer to Ann. “Excellent.” Another step. “Good thinking.” Another step. She caught Ann’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Not just a pretty face.” She pulled Ann to her by the hip, dipping her head to capture her lips. 

Ann’s hands slid up her arms to tangle in Anne’s ponytail. Anne could feel her melting into the kiss, and she couldn’t help smiling against Ann’s lips. Ann pulled away. 

“Not just a pretty face?” Ann stepped back, crossing her arms and inadvertently pressing her breasts together. “Are you being patronizing?” Anne’s eyes drifted to her cleavage of their own accord. “My eyes are up here!” Ann protested, and Anne raised her gaze with a jerk. 

“I’m not –” Anne shook her head, trying to focus, “being patronizing.”

“I can tell when you’re being patronizing.”

“I wasn’t being patronizing,” Anne protested. 

Ann bit her lip and cocked her hip – was she teasing her? 

“You are very pretty,” Anne purred, closing the distance between them again. “In a certain light.”

“In a certain light?” Ann sputtered, torn between indignation and laughter. “You do realize –”

She never got to finish that sentence, because Anne had just bent double to toss the younger woman over her shoulder. Ann laughed in surprise, her fists beating lightly on Anne’s back. Anne tossed her onto the bed with a grin, then stepped back to drink in the sight before her. Ann was propped on her elbows, spread diagonally across the bed, still glistening from the bath, her eyes full of love and want and the dirtiest implications. Anne groaned and pounced on her. 

Ann’s hands tangled in her hair once more, tugging gently. Anne obliged, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She was very aware of the rather rigorous afternoon they’d had, and she didn’t want to overwhelm a likely still-sore Ann. She settled for a slow, methodical consumption, her lips and tongue and teeth covering Ann’s jaw, then her neck, then her collarbone. Anne paid special attention to Ann’s breasts, the cause of their bickering; she took each one in her mouth, grazing her teeth over her nipples, circling them with her tongue. Ann was arching underneath her, her fingers wrapping ever-tighter in Anne’s hair. 

Slowly, Anne moved down to her ribs, tracing the sharp bone with her tongue, nipping at the damp skin. She trailed kisses from one side of Ann’s soft belly to the other, then back again. Her hands ran down Ann’s thighs, bending her knees, lifting her legs up onto her shoulders. Ann’s heels dug into her back, her hips raising toward Anne’s mouth. Anne grinned before dipping her tongue to draw a large path through Ann’s arousal. Ann moaned above her, and Anne settled into the sheets to her work. 

She dragged her tongue across Ann’s folds, reveling in the sharp, unique taste of her; her tongue circled Ann’s clit, then dipped to probe her entrance. She had to bring her hands to Ann’s hips to steady her, squeezing lightly at the soft flesh. Anne continued this pattern for several minutes – circle, probe, squeeze – though she could have done it forever. Ann was whimpering more and more urgently, so Anne took mercy on her and her clit between her lips. Ann’s hips broke free, pressing her center insistently into Anne’s mouth. Anne chuckled, and leisurely brought Ann’s hips back to the mattress. She sucked lightly on Ann’s clit, flicked it with her tongue, grazed it with her teeth. Anne could feel her own desire building, but she ignored it. Ann was muttering nonsensically above her, and Anne knew she was close. Anne increased the pace of her tongue’s strokes until she felt the rush of Ann’s arousal on her chin, Ann’s thighs clamping about her ears, Ann’s hands grasping roughly at her head.

Anne continued to lap at Ann’s core until her hands fell away. Anne raised herself up on her knees, surveying the spent, panting woman below her. She brought her hand between her own legs, and started a rough rhythm against her clit. Her eyes traced Ann’s flushed body; her hips started to rut against her hand. She didn’t need long. Ann’s eyes drifted open, sated, at first, then confused. 

“Anne?” She breathed.

Anne hummed in response, afraid she’d lose her focus. She only needed a little more. 

“Anne, what are you doing?” Ann seemed genuinely confused. 

“I think it’s obvious,” Anne attempted a chuckle, but it came out more of a gasp.

“Let me,” Ann said softly, sitting up. 

“You don’t have to,” Anne squeezed her eyes shut and shifted away from Ann. She was close, but her orgasm was eluding her. She tried to focus on the way Ann tasted, the way she had felt in the bath.

“Anne, stop,” Ann’s serious voice jolted her back to reality. Anne’s eyes shot open, her hand stilling between her legs. “Why don’t you want me to touch you?” 

Ann’s eyes were wide, searching Anne’s face. Anne sighed and sat down next to her. 

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “I know I kind of put you through it this afternoon, and you’re probably tired. We can just go to bed.” Anne twisted away to stand up, but Ann caught her arm. 

“Are you kidding?”

“I – Adney, I get it. I did a lot to you, in the library, and –”

“Hold on,” Ann’s expression was a cross between confusion and laughter, “we both did a lot in that library.”

“Right, yes,” Anne felt herself getting annoyed now, the prospect of her orgasm slipping further away, “but you know, I –”

“This isn’t something you do to me,” Ann said with that same curious expression; “it’s something we do together.”

“Well, sure, but …” Anne trailed off. She’d always considered herself the aggressor, the top, the man. Since most of the women in her life professed to be straight, she’d grown accustomed to thinking of sex on their terms – as something she did to them. A mistake, usually. A dalliance, maybe. 

“Look at me, Pony,” Ann said gently. “We’re equal partners in this. I’m not some confused girl who’s going to stumble back to her boyfriend tomorrow. I’m going to be your wife.” 

“Ann,” Anne sighed and shook her head. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

“You do this thing with your hands,” Ann took one of Anne’s hands in her own, “when you’re thinking about the past. You crack your knuckles with your thumb. You do it a lot when you talk about Mariana. That’s when I noticed. You did it just now, which makes me think you’re used to women treating sex like something you did to them. Not something you did with them.”

Anne was silent for a long moment, trying to stave off tears and find the right words. How was this girl so insightful? So much more in-tune with her emotions (and Anne’s) than Anne could ever be? Anne shook her head again. 

“Did I get it wrong? Oh God, I overstepped. Shoot, I’m sorry. Let’s go to bed.”

Anne grabbed Ann’s delicate face in her hands and crashed their lips together. Ann yelped in surprise, then leaned into it. Soon she was pressing Anne onto her back, then pulling away to hover over her. Anne felt vulnerability rise in her chest, the desire to push Ann off her, to shift into that role she knew so well. But something in those bright blue eyes stopped her, and she took a deep breath. 

“You didn’t get it wrong,” Anne whispered. “I’m such an idiot half the time – probably more than half, really.” Anne chuckled. “You’re right. Of course we do this together. You’re going to be my wife. I love you.”

“And I love you, you big, dumb idiot.” Ann laughed, then her voice turned sultry. “Now lay back, Pony, let’s do something together.” 

Anne bit her lip and settled back into the sheets, spreading her legs as Ann knelt between them. Ann brought their lips together as her hand traced over Anne’s stomach and across her inner thighs. Their tongues slid together languidly, and Anne felt desire pool between her legs already. She lifted her hips slightly, hoping Ann would take the hint.

Ann bit her bottom lip gently before bringing her fingertips to Anne’s clit, circling it with the lightest of touches. Anne raised her hips more insistently, desperate for some friction. Ann nipped at her earlobe.

“If we’re going to do this,” she breathed into Anne’s ear, “you have to let me do it my way.”

With that, Ann started the slowest, most tantalizing, infuriating rhythm across Anne’s clit. She ran her fingers through Anne’s wetness, then up to her clit, circling just twice, before starting the circuit over again. Anne gripped Ann’s shoulder, hoping to get her to move more quickly, but Ann continued this maddening pace. Anne had no idea how long this went on, but she felt certain it was hours. 

“Adney, please,” she begged. 

Ann dropped her head for a teasing kiss, then pulled away. Her fingers increased their pressure almost imperceptibly. They continued in this rhythm – Ann keeping Anne just at the edge, Anne begging, Ann relenting – until finally, the dam broke. Ann’s hand moved faster and harder, as her lips pressed wet kisses along Anne’s jaw. Anne rolled her hips, desperately chasing her release. At last, she felt it overwhelm her, wave after wave bringing shudders through her body, as her hips shot up and her hands pulled Ann to her chest. 

Her body sagged in relief, and she grinned into Ann’s feather-light kiss. Ann rolled off of her and padded to the dresser. She tossed Anne her sweats and t-shirt, pulling on her own nightshirt. Anne tugged her pajamas on, still panting. 

“You’re very good at that,” Anne said as she pulled out her journal.

“I had a very good teacher,” Ann teased. She slipped under the covers and snuggled into her pillow. 

“I mean at talking about your feelings. Recognizing your feelings. And mine.”

Ann put her hand on Anne’s forearm and squeezed, forcing Anne to meet her penetrating gaze.

“I’ve been through a lot of therapy in my life, so I’m actually pretty good at talking about my feelings. Managing them and reacting appropriately,” Ann chuckled, “that is a whole different thing.”

Anne nodded, feeling a mixture of shyness and embarrassment. She underestimated Ann once again, and she’d been proven wrong one again. Ann stroked her arm lightly, then rolled onto her other side. 

“Now, let me get some sleep, Pony. You’ve worn me out.”

Anne chuckled and flipped open her journal. The sharp scratches of her pen on paper underscored the soft rhythm of Ann’s snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Tub conversation based on "I said she had more heart & more of something like romance than her sister - 'Yes' - she told me she always thought I had a tincture of romance abut me... it seems she had observed & felt my manner of sitting by her when she called with her uncle & aunt atkinson - I said, that was done because I really could not help it." October 1, 1832
> 
> Their conversation in bed I really do believe is an accurate modernization. I've been rereading some of the diaries, and Ann was already fairly assertive in the bedroom. Enough to worry Anne and make Anne think she was "man-keen." So how would that track in the modern world? How would an Ann who'd been through years of therapy, who knew what she wanted sexually, react to Anne's sort of old-fashioned ideas and bullheadedness? I don't know if I'm expressing it well, or if I captured it in the chapter, but I do think this assertiveness is in character. We talk a lot about shy and meek Ann was, but she had a boldness to her as well.
> 
> Anywayyyyyyy let me know what you thought. Your feedback is so so appreciated!


	36. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely too long, but I didn't want to break it up. I hope it's not overwhelming. Enjoy!

At first Ann thought she had just slept wrong. Then she thought perhaps Anne held her too tightly, forcing her body into an uncomfortable position in the night. Eventually she decided it was a combination of these, plus, of course, a rather busy afternoon in the library. She sighed and tried to fall back asleep – no luck. The clock on the nightstand mocked her – two o’clock rolling past, then three, then four. Ann’s mind drifted to the day ahead. They would need to pack, but she was in no shape for that. Maybe Anne would rub her back again; they could spend the morning cuddled up, then start packing in the afternoon. 

By five, Anne was stirring behind her, pulling Ann’s sore body even closer. Ann grunted and pulled away, Anne’s long arms grazing her back in an attempt to catch her.

“What’s wrong?” Anne’s voice was rough with sleep. 

“My back,” Ann sighed and rolled gingerly onto her back. “I’m sore all over.”

Anne hummed behind her, but Ann couldn’t figure her meaning. Would she be annoyed? They did have rather a lot of packing to do, and now Ann wouldn’t be able to start until the afternoon at the earliest. They didn’t necessarily have to go to Shibden tomorrow, but she knew Anne was anxious to get back, see her aunt, check on the estate. Anne shifted in bed next to her, sitting up and studying her. Ann tilted her chin, but Anne granted her only the briefest of kisses before standing. 

“Do you want to join me? On my walk?”

“I don’t think I can get out of bed,” Ann laughed, then winced. “We may have over done it yesterday,” she said through gritted teeth. 

Anne studied her, nodded, then turned away. Ann watched her dress, irritation building in her gut. Was Anne really going to traipse off into the garden on their last day together? She couldn’t spend one measly morning in bed with her fiancé? Her dreams of a steamy back rub drifted away. Anne sat on the edge of the bed, tugged on her socks, then turned to face Ann.

“I don’t think we should – uh, I don’t think we should use the strap anymore,” Anne said carefully. 

“Why not?” This was the last thing she thought Anne would say.

“I think, perhaps,” Anne was speaking so slowly, her tone so gentle. The irritation in Ann’s gut grew. “I think, perhaps, it’s too much for you. 

“What?” Ann sputtered, shifting to sit up more fully. She was so angry she didn’t even notice the pain until she was upright. 

“This is not the first time this has happened, darling.” Anne’s pitying eyes stoked Ann’s fury. “It was lovely while it lasted, but I think, maybe, it’s not for us.”

“Are you joking? Are you hearing yourself?” Ann could hear her voice rise, couldn’t keep it level. “What are you talking about?”

“Ann! Be sensible,” Anne stood; “clearly, the kind of things we’ve been doing –”

“The incredible sex we’ve been having,” Ann corrected.

“Yes,” Anne’s shoulders sagged. “The kind of sex we’ve been having is clearly too much for your body. I don’t want to hurt you. I won’t do it again.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not about being fair; it’s about keeping you healthy. I will not do something that I know will hurt you.”

“You were more than happy to spank me,” Ann shot back. Anne’s jaw twitched, her eyes downcast. Ann could tell she’d caught her off-guard.

“That’s different,” Anne said to the floor. 

“Was it different when you pushed me into that hard wall? Or bent me over that desk? Or held me so tightly you left bruises on my hips?”

“Yes! It was different. I wasn't trying to hurt you! But with this,” Anne gestured vaguely over her shoulder, “I would know I was hurting you the second I put it on. I – I wouldn’t be able to – I can’t do it. I won’t.” Anne’s voice was firm, her decision resolute. 

“But you’re not hurting me,” Ann said quietly. 

Anne was lacing up her trainers, refusing to meet her eye. 

“I will tell you if I’m uncomfortable or I think something is too much. You don’t get to decide what my body can handle.” Ann grew exasperated, irritated, incredulous. How could Anne make such a callous, incomprehensible decision? And be so unwilling to discuss it?

“Ann,” Anne’s voice was that of a tired schoolteacher explaining the answer to a particularly dim student. “I know more about this kind of thing than you do. I don’t think it’s a good idea. For now, I will not be using it.” She moved to the door.

“You don’t know more than I do about my own body!” Ann reached out to grab Anne’s wrist; Anne recoiled. “I bet you never had this kind of problem with Mariana Lawton,” Ann said stiffly, falling back against the headboard. 

“This isn’t about her.” Ann could practically hear Anne’s walls raising again. In the back of her mind, she knew she should deescalate, let them both calm down and return to the subject later. For now, however, she was pissed. 

“Everything is about her, Anne. You bring her up all the time. You must be comparing us constantly. I can practically hear you thinking about her.” Ann’s voice turned bitter, “I thought I had her beat, but I guess not.” 

“That’s not –”

“It is! I cannot be her, and I never will be. You keep telling me all the ways she mistreated you, but you still want her. I can’t live up to her. I’m not sophisticated or experienced or worldly like she is. She had you for twenty years; I’ve had two weeks! You have to give me a chance. I am here. I’m here, and she’s not.”

“This is not about Mariana!” Anne roared. “This is about me and you. Me being worried about you, and you resenting me for it. I’m trying to look out for you.”

“You’re treating me like a child,” Ann protested. 

Anne opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Her jaw twitched, then she moved back to the door. 

“I’m going out.” 

The door slammed behind her. 

“That’s right, run away,” Ann called after her. She huffed back into the pillows, trying to fall back asleep, but she was too riled up. She flipped this way and that, her sore body now an afterthought to the fury pumping through her veins. Their argument replayed in her mind over and over. Each time, Anne grew colder, more aloof.

Eventually, she hobbled to the bathroom to choke down her pills. She snatched her sketchbook from the vanity and propped herself in bed to draw. Drawing always helped her process her emotions, and she started sketching with fervor. Her pencil scratched across the page angrily, her leg jostling anxiously against the bed. 

How could Anne try to control her in this way? To just refuse Ann, pointblank? She was patronizing, demeaning, condescending. She treated Ann like a child, unable to make her own decisions. She wouldn’t even hear her out, let Ann explain herself. She was probably outside, in Ann’s garden, calling Mariana now. Missing her sultry, knowing eyes and her healthy body. Anne would never see Ann as an equal. She would never take her seriously. 

Ann studied the drawing in front of her – a bull with Anne’s head. A bit on the nose, she thought, flipping to a new page. 

Ann’s back did hurt. Her whole body hurt. Part of that, certainly, stemmed from the rather athletic sex Anne was so fond of. Not that Ann wasn’t fond of it as well. She craved it, in fact, the feeling of Anne’s strong arms, her rough kisses, her desperate, physical need. She loved their tender moments, but she also loved those moments when urgency won out, when their bodies crashed into each other, when that hot fire of desire burned so bright it threatened to consume them both. Ann suffered from a delicate back; she always had and likely always would. These desperate moments might cause a bit of pain, but she could manage it. She was willing to stand a cramped back or sore legs or tired arms, if it meant being with Anne. Stepping into those passionate flames with her. 

She considered her latest sketch – Anne as a firefighter, holding Ann above a bright flame. Was she saving her or threatening to throw her in? Which would Ann prefer? She turned the page. 

Anne was so stubborn. She liked to be right, and she usually was. Ann didn’t mind this about her. Actually, she appreciated her confidence and her wide breadth of knowledge. This morning, however, Anne wouldn’t even consider an alternative point of view. Executive decision – no discussion. Ann started to shift to a new perspective; this wasn’t even about sex, not really. It was about Anne not listening, Anne trying to make decisions for her, Anne not trusting her to know what was best for herself. Anne was trying to protect her, however foolishly. Ann felt herself softening at the thought. Anne was stubborn, yes, but her intentions were good. 

This last sketch was the best likeness of Anne yet – she was arguing with an unseen foe, her face animated, her arms gesticulating. Ann decided to continue with this one. 

Anne took such good care of her. She had made it very clear that she was no expert in relationships, that she was certain to make mistakes. Perhaps that’s all this was. Anne making the same old mistake and reacting in that same old fashion. She wasn’t used to being in a partnership like this. Ann wasn’t either, but she didn’t have these bad habits to fall back on. Anne was old enough to know better, though, especially after she’d had some time to cool off. Ann saw her own words more objectively now; she was definitely out of line with the Mariana crack. If, once she returned, Anne would give rational discussion a chance, Ann vowed to do the same. 

She tore the sketch out – Anne and Ann, on the same side of the page, their mouths open in protest, but their hands clasped together. On the opposite side, a sea of faceless figures, representative of the outside world, other people, their own foibles. It was more abstract than Ann’s usual work, but she was pleased with it. She thought Anne would like it too. 

The door eased open, and a timid Anne stepped inside. She held in her hands a small clay pot with a single, yellow tulip standing proudly inside. She knelt next to the bed, looking up at Ann. Her eyes were puffy; her face was almost childlike in its contrition. 

They spoke at once:

“I’m sorry.”

They both laughed uncomfortably. Anne set the tulip down and took Ann’s hands in her own. 

“Don’t apologize,” she said quietly. “I overreacted, and I overstepped, and I didn’t listen. I did that thing I always do. I made an assumption, and then I made a decision. And then I dug my heels in. I should have listened to you. I’m sorry, Adney.”

“Thank you,” Ann whispered. “I don’t think I was entirely fair to you either –”

“No,” Anne cut her off, “this was all my fault. You’re hurting, and I –”

“You’re doing it again.”

Anne hung her head and nodded sheepishly. 

“It was unfair of me to bring up Mariana. I guess I was jealous – she seems so vivacious and worldly and – and better than me. I feel a bit like I’m in her shadow. I’m sorry.” Ann looked down, picking at her nails. 

“Thank you,” Anne cupped her cheek and lifted her face until their eyes met. “I probably do talk about Mariana too much. That’s not right. You are superior to her in every way.” Ann shook her head and bit her lip. “I’m serious, Adney. I love you. I love you in a way that I never loved her. You must believe me.”

Ann nodded, and for a moment they stayed like that, frozen between argument and reconciliation. She searched Anne’s face; in that penetrating gaze, Ann found what she was looking for, whatever that was. Ann tilted her chin. Anne dove in with a smile. Their kiss was tender and slow. Anne pulled away and picked up the flowerpot. 

“I brought you this. An apology. I thought about picking a bouquet, but all the flowers in a bouquet are dead. I wanted to give you something that was alive and growing. A piece of Crow Nest we can bring back to Shibden. If you’ll still have me.” Anne raised her eyebrows; her voice was teasing, but Ann could see the insecurity in her eyes.

“Of course,” Ann laughed. “Of course I will.” She pecked Anne’s lips. “I’ve drawn you this. An apology.”

Anne studied the drawing for a long beat. So long that Ann started to doubt herself. The drawing was dumb. Childish. What a worthless gesture. What would Anne even do with it? It was – 

Ann’s self-doubt was cut off by a searing kiss. Anne’s hands cradling her face, her tongue dipping between her lips, her long nose pressing into Ann’s cheek. Ann pulled away with a confused smile. 

“I love this,” Anne said, picking the drawing back up. “I love this, and I love you, and I love the way we are together.” She rolled her eyes and laughed, “talk about sappy.” 

Ann laughed and relaxed into the pillows. Anne toed off her trainers and clambered over her to sit next to her. Ann leaned her head against Anne’s shoulder, taking Anne’s hand and toying with her fingers. 

“We have a lot of packing to do, Pony.”

“It can wait.”

Silence stretched between them, and Ann found herself drifting off to the reassuring rhythm of Anne’s heart. She woke in the early afternoon, her head now resting in the soft cradle of Anne’s lap. Anne was nearly finished with one of the books she’d ordered, her journal tossed haphazardly to the foot of the bed. Ann pressed a soft kiss to Anne’s pantleg. 

“There she is,” Anne flicked her book closed. “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” Ann stretched, finding much of the residual soreness gone – alleviated by the muscle relaxer she’d taken earlier and the sleep she’d recovered on Anne’s lap. “I should start packing.”

“I’ll help. Don’t get up. Where are your bags?”

Anne retrieved her suitcases and started clearing her closet. Ann watched from the bed; her heart warmed as she watched Anne’s methodical packing, her careful folding and rolling. 

“You’re quite good at this.”

“All that travelling,” Anne shrugged. “What else?”

“Dresser next, I think.”

They had filled four suitcases before Anne pulled out the nondescript black box that had caused all the trouble. Ann said nothing, waiting for Anne’s reaction. 

“Well we’ve got to make sure this travels safely,” Anne winked.

“Are you sure?” Ann tried to keep her voice level.

“If you are,” Anne said into her lap, turning the box over in her hands. 

“I am.”

“There we are,” Anne grinned as she tucked the box into the suitcase. “Surely that’s all of your clothes.”

“Yep,” Ann decided not to tell Anne about her winter closets. Not yet. This was plenty, for now. “There are a few things I want to put in boxes downstairs. I don’t want to take more than one carload this time. We can go back and forth over the next few weeks?”

Anne nodded and zipped up the suitcases. Ann snagged a pair of shorts from one just in time. She stepped into them, her sleeping shirt so long it nearly covered them entirely. She figured she didn’t really need them, but she didn’t want to bump into James in her underwear. 

“What am I going to do about James?” she worried as they made their way downstairs. 

“I guess you’ll have to decide what you’re doing with this house first. If you sell it, he can come work at Shibden. We’ll find something. If you lease it, he could stay on.”

“That’s a good idea,” Ann made a mental note to talk to Elizabeth about this. She hadn’t even really discussed her moving out with any of her staff; they would all be going home tomorrow morning, back to their own lives to ride out the rest of the lockdown. 

Anne grabbed a box from the storage room off the entry way, and Ann went into the living room to gather her art supplies, a few books, a music box of her mother’s. Anne snuck up behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist and kissing her neck. Ann put one hand over Anne’s arms and leaned back into her. 

“I’m going to miss that sofa,” Anne whispered. 

“Where I told you I loved you,” Ann smiled at the thought. “And where you touched me for the first time.”

“Those were the same moment, Miss Walker,” Anne husked in her ear.

“And then Mrs. Priestly called,” Ann giggled, “and you were – God, you were, like, sniffing my panties behind me.”

“I was not!” Anne pulled her closer and nipped at her earlobe.

“You were definitely picking them up,” Ann laughed.

“Sometimes I like to have a souvenir,” Anne was kissing her neck again. 

“You’re a dirty old brute, and I shouldn’t let you –” Ann exhaled sharply, cut off by Anne’s cool hands cupping her breasts. 

“Shouldn’t let me do what?” Anne’s breath was hot on her neck, her hands moving tantalizingly over her nipples. 

Ann’s only response was a soft moan. She needed Anne desperately, her soreness forgotten. 

“Let me lay you on this sofa? For old time’s sake?” Anne nipped at her neck, grazing her teeth along her shoulder. Ann nodded, her eyes already closed. “Are you sure, Adney? Your back, I –”

“Please,” Ann breathed. Anne grinned against her skin.

Anne turned her around slowly, gripping her hips lightly and catching her lips in a slow kiss. Ann ran her hands up to Anne’s shoulders, reveling in the feeling of her strong arms. Anne laid her back slowly, nudging her legs apart to kneel between them. Ann rolled her hips, settling further into the plush cushions. 

“My, my, Miss Walker,” Anne grinned as she slipped her hand into Ann’s shorts, “so wet for me already. What in the world am I going to do with you?”

Anne’s touch against her center was electric, her fingertips sliding through her arousal with practiced ease. Ann grabbed her shoulder, lifting her hips to wrap her legs around Anne’s waist. Anne dipped her head to bring their lips together, kissing her languidly as her hand traced slow circles over Ann’s clit. Their bodies shifted into that perfect rhythm; they were so in sync, their movements effortless. Ann rolled her hips again, silently asking for more; Anne probed her entrance, then eased into her. Ann moaned softly through her open mouth. 

“You feel so good, my darling,” Anne purred as she started thrusting gently. “Do you know what I was thinking that first time I touched you?” 

Ann bit her lip, shaking her head; she loved Anne’s low, soft voice, but she could hardly focus on conversation right now.

“I thought every path in my life had led me to this exact moment. That every step had been part of my journey to you, to this couch, to this feeling,” Anne’s lips were so close it felt like she was dripping her words directly into her ear. 

Anne’s words were tender, but her touch certainly was not. She was thrusting into Ann quickly now, filling her over and over, massaging that divine spot inside of her. Ann’s hips met her hand frantically, her hand clutching Anne’s shoulder desperately. Anne’s tongue traced her ear, her jaw, her neck. Ann felt her release building in her gut, warmth spreading to every inch of her body, Anne’s words reverberating in her head. She seized and cried out as the first wave crested over her, trembling as Anne eased her through with the gentlest of touches, the softest of whispers. Finally, she stilled, exhaling deeply. Anne pressed a kiss to her lips, then pulled her hand away. 

“It only gets better,” Anne said as she rose, wiping her hand carelessly on her shirt. Ann was halfway scandalized by this, and she reached for Anne to pull her back down to the couch. Anne caught her hand, pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, then hoisted her up. “We’ve a lot of packing to do, darling.”

Ann groaned, but she followed a box-toting Anne into the library. She pulled a few books from the shelves, gathered the essentials from her desk, but mostly she was surprised at how few things she really wanted from this room. The house was full of carefully chosen décor, nothing very sentimental. When her parents first died, every object in the house felt significant – the chair her mother sat in most often, the box where her father kept his cigars, the table they left their keys on. Now, they were just gathering dust, vague memories jumbling and fading. She knew by now that these objects had no connection to her parents, couldn’t bring them back, couldn’t keep her sadness at bay. She sat heavily on one of the chairs and surveyed the room. 

“What are you thinking?” Anne stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders lightly. 

“I’m thinking how little I care about the things I’ve spent my whole life around. Isn’t that strange?”

“I don’t think so. You don’t have to force importance on something just because you’ve had it a long time.”

Ann hummed, not sure if she agreed or not. She felt disloyal, somehow, for not feeling a stronger connection to this house. She’d grown up here, spent her happiest days here, all of her memories of her parents were confined to this property. By the same token, she spent some of her worst days here, she’d lost countless hours to loneliness and isolation here, the looming specter of her parents hung about the corners. 

“You know what I’m thinking of?” Anne’s voice was low and quiet.

“What?”

“This is where you first kissed me.”

“You broke my paper knife,” Ann teased, tilting her head to look up at Anne behind her. 

“An honest mistake. An accident.”

“I think you wanted me to hold your hand,” Ann dared. 

“I swear, Adney, I was honestly just fiddling with it, and –”

“I’m joking!” Ann laughed and watched Anne’s shoulders sag in relief. She stood. “You told me that filthy thing about pocket holes.” 

“Oh yeah,” Anne laughed, wrapping her arm around Ann’s waist as they made their way to the kitchen. “Classic pick-up line: hey, babe, have you heard about all the wanking that goes on in Paris?”

They laughed and cooked and drank. Ann felt warm all over, from the wine, from the food, from the joy Anne Lister brought to her life. She never would have guessed two weeks ago that this would be her life. As they ate, she found herself studying Anne’s face, memorizing her, as if tomorrow she would wake up and find this whole quarantine had been a dream. She had lost so many things in her life, and now she had been gifted this extraordinary love. A love so wide and bright and consuming she couldn’t remember how she survived without it. She closed the dishwasher and turned to watch Anne wiping down the kitchen island. 

“I’m very fond of this island,” Anne said, catching her eye. “Smooth, easy to clean, spacious.”

“Comfortable, too, I think,” Ann teased, draping her arms around Anne’s shoulders. 

“Easy on the back,” Anne husked before bringing their lips together. 

They kissed slowly, easily, as if too sudden a movement would burst the perfect bubble encasing them, protecting them from the outside world. Anne pulled away gently, and they mounted the stairs hand-in-hand. Ann thought of all the times Anne had pulled, chased, and carried her up these stairs. Tonight – they ascended together. 

Ann closed their bedroom door then leaned against it, quirking her eyebrow. Anne grinned, and the dam burst. The slow fire they had been stoking all afternoon blazed between them. Anne grabbed her roughly by the hips, pressing their bodies together, attacking her mouth. Ann couldn’t stop the soft moans escaping her lips or the rough curl of her fingers in that dark hair. Anne turned them around and backed Ann to the bed, pushing her lightly onto her back. Ann scrambled backward, onto the pillows, shimmying out of her shorts and tugging her t-shirt over her head. Anne cocked her head and bit her lip. 

“Coming, Pony? I may have to start without you.” Ann floated her hand down her torso to her inner thigh. 

Anne grinned as she shucked her pants and shirt, diving onto Ann in her boxers and sports bra. She pinned Ann’s hands over her head before dipping her head to capture her breast in her mouth. Ann gasped at the sensation, her back arching. Anne’s strong hands circled her wrists, pressing her into the mattress, keeping her still. Anne’s mouth was everything – warm and soft and wet and demanding and sharp; Ann felt her arousal drip between her legs as Anne lifted her head to move to her other breast. Ann groaned in frustration, in relief, in ecstasy. Ann lifted her legs to hook around Anne’s waist for the second time that day; she dug her heels into Anne’s back as a less-than-subtle hint. Anne released her nipple and licked her lips as she raised her head.

“For a girl with a delicate spine, you sure are strong,” Anne teased before catching Ann’s lips in a hungry kiss. Ann melted into her, even as her hips rolled against her firm stomach. 

Anne pulled away and trailed a line of kisses down Ann’s body – along her neck, between her breasts, over her ribs, across her belly. She dipped her tongue between Ann’s folds, inhaling deeply before starting a slow, measured assault. Ann couldn’t process, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything other than feel. Her hips pressed into Anne’s face of their own accord; her hands, now freed, tangled in Anne’s hair. Anne eased a finger between her slick folds, and Ann cried out. Surely she would collapse from the overwhelming pleasure. Anne took her clit between her lips, and Ann thought she would explode, the fire within her would consume them both. Her release built in her rapidly, burning her skin and tensing her muscles. Finally, she heard her own voice, as if from miles away:

“Yes, Pony, yes, yes, yes.” She shuddered, pulling Anne closer, then sighed back into the mattress. She was dimly aware that Anne was kneeling over her, twisting out her sports bra, then rolling onto her back and tugging off her boxers. She panted, feeling the bed jostle next to her. She turned her head – Anne’s hand moved purposefully between her thighs. 

“You’re so impatient, Pony,” she whined, still out of breath. Anne gave a breathy laugh, but her hand stilled. 

“You are so gorgeous like that; I can’t help it.”

“I had a thought,” Ann said quietly, “if you don’t mind.”

“What’s your thought?” Anne took her sweaty hand and kissed the back of it. 

“One time, in the library, you – well, you had me – I knelt over your face.” Anne’s hum of acknowledgment was positively filthy; Ann swatted at her. “I wondered if you would do that. If I could be the one – if you would, um –”

“Sit on your face?” Anne purred.

Ann nodded and felt a blush cover her face. A blush! Really, she chastised herself, after everything we’ve done? Get a grip. 

“Are you sure?” Anne asked, her voice now incredibly serious. 

“Yes.”

Anne bit her lip, suppressing a smile, before rolling over to kiss Ann soundly. Ann giggled into her lips; Anne was so playful, so exhilarating like this. Anne pulled back, studied her face, kissed her again. Ann tilted her head backward with a lift of her eyebrows. Anne kissed her once more, then crawled up to hover over Ann’s face. 

Ann inhaled that singular, heady scent that was so primally Anne Lister. She wrapped her hands lightly around Anne’s hips, tugging gently to get the older woman to shift down. Ann found herself immersed, positively drowning in her taste and smell and desire. She lapped greedily at Anne’s core, before turning her attention to the hard bundle of Anne’s need. She flicked her tongue roughly over it, reveling in the shudders and moans from above. She dug her hands into Anne’s hips, needing her closer, needing to consumer her, to devour her whole. She could hear the rhythmic thumping of the headboard as Anne tried to steady herself and her rutting hips. Ann knew she was close, could feel the proof on her chin, so she took Anne’s clit between her lips, sucking roughly. Anne trembled, muttering and cursing above her. It was all Ann could do to stroke her carefully through, allowing each wave to wash over her, until Anne fell onto her back, spent. 

Anne’s feet were still up near Ann’s head, and she ran her hand absently over Anne’s knee. Exhaustion hit her, and she was suddenly, desperately tired. She watched Anne catch her breath and bring one hand to her flushed chest. 

“Good God, Adney,” she breathed, stretching one leg into the air. A loud crack filled the room. “I may be getting too old for that.”

Ann laughed and swatted her knee. Anne grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to it, just above that onyx ring. She flopped onto to the pillow on her stomach, her head turned toward Ann. 

“I feel kind of sad,” Ann whispered. “I want to go to Shibden, but – I love right now.”

“I love it too,” Anne rolled onto her side and looked at Ann seriously. “We’re going to the next part – the real-life part. Which I’m very excited about – to be with you at Shibden, to share my family and my home and my life with you, to be your wife. But I’m sad to leave this part behind.”

“Me too,” Ann nestled into her pillow. “You’re a big softy, aren’t you?”

Anne rolled her eyes and sat up to pull the covers over their naked bodies. 

“You are!” Ann teased. “You’re a big, romantic softy who’s going to be my wife. Mine!”

“Yours,” Anne laughed as she draped her arm over Ann’s hip. She leaned forward to kiss Ann’s nose. “Now go to sleep, darling, you’re going to need your energy. You know how tiring it’s been dealing with one Lister all day? Now imagine three more.” 

Ann laughed and rolled her eyes. The prospect of living with Anne’s family was certainly daunting, but she was excited. Ready. After all, in time, she would be a Lister herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I don't really know what to say. Thank you for reading. That's a start. 
> 
> I haven't written creatively in years - not long stories like this. I haven't shared my writing with other people in even longer. I always thought of myself as a writer, but I kept psyching myself out, getting lazy, losing focus, so I never actually wrote much of anything. This story has changed all of that. You cannot imagine how much your kudos and comments mean to me. I am so incredibly grateful to each and every one of you. Thank you.
> 
> Fear not - tomorrow we will start bright and early with Monday Morning at Shibden Hall. Be on the lookout!


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